


Once More, With Vengeance

by Princess_Aleera



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: #coulsonlives, Angst, Awkward Romance, Everybody sings, Fluff and Angst, Fusion, Hulk does not like singing, Like literally everyone, Loki does not care about your personal space, M/M, Musical Spell, No seriously - so much singing, Non-consensual singing and dancing, Past mind-control, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Singing, Yes that is a warning, fatigue, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, I've got this question,” Tony says when he walks into the Avengers' living room this morning, “and feel free to ignore me if, y'know, I'm talking crazy here, but have any of you spontaneously burst into song lately?”</p><p>There is a moment of total silence. Then Natasha curses in Russian and Clint bursts out with “I knew there was something off with those back-up singers!” Steve says nothing, but he blushes, and Thor claims that he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, as he tends to spontaneously burst into song anyway.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or, the one where New York falls under a musical spell and that is not <span class="u">nearly</span> as much fun as it sounds like.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Got a Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [marvel_bang](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com/59987.html). Originally started as a fill for a nonnie-prompt on avenger_kink, but then it exploded and here we are.
> 
> Thank you so much, [Slashersivi](http://archiveofourown/user/slashersivi), for putting up with my occasional AWOL-ness due to IRL bullshit, and for being super supportive and enthusiastic about this silly story. Also for singing all these songs, because they sound _so much cooler_ that way. THANK YOU THANK YOU.
> 
> A huge thanks also to my alpha/beta/co-plotter, [ohmiya_sg](http://livejournal.com/user/ohmiya_sg), who did a LOT of work on this. Same goes for [TigerDreams](http:livejournal.com/user/tigerdreams) /[CassandraOfTroy](http:archiveofourown.org/user/cassandraoftroy), who - in addition to being my second beta - practically rewrote all the songs I'd tweaked and changed. You guys are all amazing and I'm so thankful I've got you around.
> 
> All the songs except have been recorded by my awesome artist, and I highly recommend listening to them if you wonder how the songs go. Also, please check out her art post! :D
> 
> Finally: this is _not_ a crossover with BtVS, it is a fusion. I just took all the songs, most of the themes, some of the plotlines, and scrambled them into something different. I hope you like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Link to my artist's cover of the songs is found by clicking the first words of the song! )

“So, I've got this question,” Tony says when he walks into the Avengers' living room this morning, “and feel free to ignore me if, y'know, I'm talking crazy here, but have any of you spontaneously burst into song lately?”

There is a moment of total silence. Then Natasha curses in Russian and Clint bursts out with “I knew there was something off with those back-up singers!” Steve says nothing, but he blushes, and Thor claims that he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, as he tends to spontaneously burst into song anyway.

~*~

Apparently Tony wasn't as subtle as he liked to believe, because when he eventually got around to asking the rest of the Avengers to move into ~~Avengers~~ Stark Tower, nobody seemed even mildly surprised. Which was a bit insulting, really, seeing as Tony wasn't known for letting other people play with his stuff. He even gave Bruce a whole R  & D floor, for God's sake, and nobody even gasped in a dramatic fashion.

On the contrary; within a month, half a year after the Battle of New York, all six of them were living in Stark Tower, just like that. Barton and Romanoff flitted between SHIELD HQ and the tower, Thor vacated in Asgard every now and then, and Bruce still seemed twitchy (although that might be just what he was _like_ ), but essentially, they were all around. And didn't drive Tony nearly as crazy as he'd thought.

Of course, there was that whole thing between Cap and him, but that wasn't annoying as much as it was... sexually frustrating? Tony had stayed up many nights discussing this dilemma with his right hand; namely, what to do with the naturally-bottle-blonde, honka-dory 80-something-year old superhero he had such a massive, crumpling crush on.

Tony suspected it had something to do with Howard and all the endless tales of Steve Rogers; how Howard had looked when he'd talked about his past friend. Eyes all bright and shiny, hands gesticulating, smile toothy and genuine; he looked _proud_ to have known Steve Rogers, to have served beside him, proud in a way he'd never been of Tony. If his brain and libido had any sense of self-preservation they'd hate the guy, especially with that 40's stick up his ass, but instead they'd done an 180 and figured that obviously, Tony should fall head over heels with the kid.

Which was just not on.

So Tony lived with the Avengers and participated in all the team-building exercises without too much nagging. He played Fury's lapdog and saved the world a few times, with and without back-up. He poked fun at Bruce and taught the Big Guy how to high-five someone without knocking them senseless; he tried (and failed) to pick up Mjølnir; he started a prank war with Clint; he didn't try to ask Natasha out a single time _or_ stare at her boobs or ass; he made fun of Cap. Because really, what else could he do with the super-soldier? They were from two different worlds, almost-literally, and while Steve seemed to settle into the 21st century just fine, he was still so... _Steve_. It made Tony feel bad to even touch the guy, like he'd somehow make Steve less – less something. Less _er_.

Sniping and quipping and making with the jokes didn't get him much, but it did give him Steve's _attention_ , if only in the form of a glare, an eye-roll, or an exasperated sigh. After a while, Tony even introduced the guy to dirty jokes, because this century was full of them and someone should make the guy aware of the dangers out there. Or something.

Maybe it was just to see Steve duck his head and purse his lips; see how his cheeks flamed up and his springy steps lost their sharp rhythm, if only for a beat.

Tony Stark did not pine. He was well-versed in wanting things he couldn't have. He shut up about it; he buried it; he 'dealt' with it.

He sure as fuck didn't _sing_ about it.

~*~

“I sang a jazz number about the quantum tunneling effect,” Bruce says and looks startled, as if he just remembers. “Dummy and Butterfingers were back-up beepers. I did find it odd that they recognized the tune.” He blinks and looks at Tony, who just shrugs. “What did you sing about, Tony?”

“Um,” Tony says. “Narcissism.”

Bruce just nods, as if it should be self-evident, and Tony's a _little_ hurt. Just a little. Because he'd at least thought that _Bruce_ would know he was lying. “How about the rest of you?”

“I sang a glorious ode to Anthony's toaster machine and Bruce's posterior!” Thor says. Bruce hides his face.

“Love song,” Clint says and looks sour. “For my bow.” He glares when Tony starts laughing. “What about you, Tasha?”

She just shakes her head, and the rest of them know better than to pry. “Steve?” Clint asks instead.

“Um, the twenty-first century,” Steve says with an apologetic smile. “About everything I don't know. It was... it was a pretty long song. Fourteen verses. I'm glad I was alone. I fell asleep right after.” He frowns. “Or at least, I think I did. There were voices making ooo-ing noises in the ether.” He yawns, like he's still sleepy.

“Right,” Clint says and spins an apple on the tip of his finger. “Can I be the first one to call magic curse?”

“We don't know for sure that it's magic,” Steve says.

“Captain,” Clint says and sounds resigned and pissed off all at once. “When's it _ever_ not magic?” He takes a bite of the green apple, the _crack_ serving as an exclamation point.

Steve doesn't answer that, just sits down in one of the three couches in the Avengers' living room.

“Okay, so should we all run for the hills, then?” Tony asks, scratching at his goatee. “Until we've figured this thing out? Because I, for one, am not too keen on doing musical numbers with you guys. No offense.” Actually, it could be really hilarious to watch his team sing and do little cute tap-dancing numbers, except that would mean that Tony would do them too and it's just not worth it. The hills are _not_ alive with the sound of music if Tony Stark can help it.

“No, I – I second that,” Bruce says and raises a hand. “Maybe we should-”

And that's when the music starts, of course.

 _[I've got a theory,](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/theory-once-more-with)_ ” sings Natasha, eyes bright and possibly the closest to surprised the rest of them have seen her, “ _that's it's an E.T.! Musical E.T.s – wait, that doesn't sound right_.” And she slumps back in the couch as the rest of them curse silently to themselves.

“ _I've got a theory,_ ” Clint offers. “ _Some villain's sneaky, and making us all sing to keep us out of the fight!_ ” And he smirks humorlessly, hands spread, like he's found the solution already. Some of the team nod along.

“ _I've got a theory that we're all in tro-ouble,_ ” Bruce sings, meticulously cleaning his glasses with his Science Frown firmly in place, and the rest of them join in creepily perfect synchronization:

“ _We're getting leery; stop this eerie mojo on the double!_ ” and they all exchange glances; half earnest ones, in sync with the dramatic music surrounding them, and half exasperated by the text.

“ _It could be Loki, the tricks of Loki!_ ” Steve sings, bouncing to his feet, before he sees Bruce's lips purse and Thor's face fall. Only then does he falter and add, still with the music, “ _which is preposterous 'cause Loki's changed and powerless and trying hard to make up for the things he's done and I'll just sit back down,_ ” he finishes meekly and sinks back into the couch, next to Natasha. She pats his knee in reassurance, and Thor's face brightens a little again.

“ _I have a theory,_ ” the demi-god sings, grinning. “ _It could be bilge snipe!_ ”

Everyone stares. Even the music halts. Thor's smile cracks into an almost petulant mask, and he looks over at Bruce for back-up.

“ _I've got a-_ ” Bruce starts.

“ _Bilge-snipe do not only roam the high realm of Asgard!_ ” Thor thunders, sending every standing Avenger stumbling back a couple of steps. “ _They migrate, leaving worlds blasted, ruined and scarred! Their antlers drip with poison; for a giant beast they really are quite devious!_ ” He lifts Mjølnir and crashes it down against the floor in time with music. “ _Bilge snipe! Bilge snipe – it must be Bilge snipe!_ ”

Nobody seems sure what to do with the demi-god's sudden bout of rage - not even the music. Thor blinks and lets Mjølnir slide out of his grasp and thunk to the floor, looking around like he's just woken up from a deep sleep. His cheeks tint.

“ _Perhaps Chitauri?_ ” he tries, and the music starts up again, to the Asgardian's apparent relief.

“ _I've got a feeling we should solve this now,_ ” Natasha mutters. Clint huffs a laugh next to her.

“ _Because it clearly works on everyone – but why, and how?_ ”

“ _I've got a theory,_ ” Bruce says again, but Tony interrupts him this time.

“ _It doesn't matter. We'll get this done without the chatter!_ ” He grins, but it's a smile devoid of humor; like the rest of them, Tony's thinking about what other things they could be spilling to each other in a fit of sudden musicality. “ _But until then, we should just scatter._ ” He sighs. “ _This curse is dumb – time for some rum. I plan to drink until I'm numb!_ ” And he walks out of the room, the rest of them trailing after as the back-up singers they currently are.

“ _We'll beat the shit out of the bad guys!_ ” they sing cheerfully, though Tony notices that Bruce and Steve seem horrified over what they're actually singing. “ _They're in for quite a nasty surprise!_ ”

“ _We shall not wait!_ ” Thor sings.

“ _No, we won't sulk!_ ” Steve sings cheerfully, his body doing its own thing and ignoring the part of Steve's brain that must be reeling. Tony would find it hilarious, except this is all really mind-controlly, and Tony doesn't wish that shit on anyone, least of all poster-boy.

“ _Our weapons rock,_ ” Tony points out instead, and Clint adds “ _we have a Hulk!_ ” before both of them fake-laugh and the rest of the team adds to the whole again.

“ _We know we'll win, fighting side by side! When we begin, we can turn the tide!_ ” And they crowd around Tony's private bar like a choir as the song reaches its last notes: “ _It's nowhere we haven't been!_ ”

“ _... It kind of it, though,_ ” Bruce points out, and the whole song ends on a strangely... wistful note.

For a moment or two, everyone stands and listens to the silence, the lack of invisible instruments in the air, and stares at the flushed faces of their team mates.

Then Tony says: “Okay, who needs to get drunk?” and there's a collective groan of agreement from all around him.

“I wish I could still get drunk,” Steve says, skulking to his room and hiding there. Tony doesn't blame the guy. He might just keel over with embarrassment if this happens again.

“I feel like shit,” Clint mutters and steals one of Tony's expensive bottles of vodka. He shares it with Natasha, who nods with him. The rest of them fall into disturbed, increasingly drunken silence after that – even Thor.

~*~


	2. Stole My Heart

In a matter of hours, every Avenger receives an email from Director Fury telling them to stay off the streets and not do any superhero work until the probably-possibly-spell has been broken. Apparently the entirety of New York seems to be under the influence of the curse, with people bursting out into song all over. At first, everyone thought it was some kind of elaborate TV stunt, but by now there are just too many perfectly synchronized ballads and musical numbers happening, and people are starting to freak out. Or they would be freaking out already, Tony muses, if they weren't forced to sing and be jolly around each other.

The team has scattered. Steve, of course, ran off as soon as their horrible little ensemble number ended, and Natasha and Clint did the same as soon as they got their hands on some of Tony's booze. Bruce disappeared down to his workshop not too long ago, and by now, Thor is the only one left in the living room – and the only one who isn't freaking the hell out at the possibility of having to proclaim his innermost feelings to his team. Then again, Tony muses on, that makes sense. Everyone knows about the demi-god and their house scientist-slash-rage-monster shacking up together – as surprising as it was at first –, and in general, Thor's not the guy to keep a lid on his feelings. He probably doesn't have much to hide.

The rest of them...

“I'm off, big guy, before I have to sing an aria about your luscious hair,” Tony says and pats Thor's shoulder as he leaves the room.

“You believe my hair is luscious?” Thor asks, smiling, but Tony just goes down to his workshop with a bottle of cognac under his arm.

“Please tell me you're immune, JARVIS,” he says as he steps into his inner chamber, last night's song about Steve still echoing in the back of his head. “If you start singing about safety protocols, I just might shoot myself.”

“I have not experienced any sudden urges to cantillate, Sir,” JARVIS says.

“Good. If you feel a tune coming on, please go offline until it passes,” Tony mutters and uncorks his bottle, taking a few (un)healthy swigs.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Right,” Tony sighs and pulls up some of his screens. “Let's crack this bullshit curse.”

~*~

Clint rarely spends time in the brand-new, shiny apartment Stark's gotten him. He feels a little guilty about that, but Clint's just not used to all the goddamn _space_ , and it makes him twitchy. So many open windows and corners; it's so vulnerable. Clint knows that Stark Tower is one of the safest places in New York, and that Clint's floor is just as safe as any other floor here, but... but he still prefers the darker corners up on the topmost floor, where nobody sleeps and hangs out, because it's still a construction site. Tony doesn't seem to know what he wants to do with this floor, though there are signs that he's going to build a swimming pool. For now, Clint is the only one who ventures here. He's built a nest of blankets and sheets in the corner farthest from the stairway door (the elevator doesn't stop on this floor, another plus), and he sleeps there in the rafters most nights.

On a usual day, he'd spend some hours shooting down on the range, or sparring with Natasha and Cap in the training room. But meeting people means the possibility of singing to people, and it was horrifying enough to sing out loud to _his bow_ , thanks very much.

So Clint sneaks up into his private space – except it's not private anymore, because there's a familiar red-head waiting for him as soon as he enters the room, stepping in front of the door he just walked through so he can't escape.

“Nat,” he says, because he knows she's got some kind of _plan_ , and with this curse on the loose, that doesn't bode well for Clint.

“Clint,” she echoes, and closes the door before leaning back against it, arms folded. She cocks an eyebrow at him, but doesn't say anything.

“You know I don't come up here to meet people, Nat. Why are you here?”

“Just thought we'd _chat_ ,” Natasha says, in the exact same way she talks about torture, and the pieces fly together in Clint's mind to make a terrible picture.

“You – you cornered me up here just so I'd _sing_ at you?” Clint asks, his voice approaching a snarl. “That's – that's low, Natasha.” He knows what she wants him to sing about; his pulling away, his hiding, the fact that he never enters HQ unless he's commanded to – the fact that he still hasn't been to Phil's grave. There's not a lot Clint keeps from Natasha, but _this_ , this he's kept, and he needs – needs to keep keeping this to himself. There are no more secrets Clint has alone, not after Loki, but there is at least one big secret that his team and his best friend don't know. Clint needs it to remain that way.

“You've been shut-off as a Soviet Gulag since New York,” Natasha says, unapologetic. “You know I've tried asking nicely, but you avoid me. You avoid everyone.”

“It's – it's none of your goddamn business, Nat,” Clint says hoarsely, and listens for any sudden background instrumentals to start pling-plonging. “It's just something I have to deal with.”

“But you're _not_ ,” Natasha snaps and walks over to him, catching him by the jaw. He allows it, and her eyes blaze with fury, knowing that he's preventing her from helping him. “That's my _point_ , Clint. It's been months. You're not getting better; you're getting worse. Whatever coping mechanisms you're using right now, they aren't doing the trick. And I'm sick of you pushing me away. I'm supposed to have your back.” There's sadness in her eyes too, beside the fury, and Clint swallows.

He looks down at their two bodies, nearly touching, and sees Phil in his mind; with a coffee cup, courtesy of Clint, with tired eyes and a smile after paper-working through the night. Such a common sight. Clint loved those nights when he'd camp out in Phil's office and listen to him do paperwork, and finally be able to catch some Zs. Feel safe.

“Clint. Talk to me,” Natasha says, and Clint nearly flinches at the words.

And then he hears the soft sound of an acoustic guitar, and sighs.

“About time,” Natasha murmurs, before stepping back, and Clint starts to sing against his will.

“ _[I'd learned](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/stole-my-heart) to keep my distance, never let anyone in_  
 _Took on a sour existence_  
 _Framed by my shit-eating grin,_ ” and he displays one of them to Natasha now, who indulges him with a smile. Her eyes are worried, though, and she folds her arms and listens. Clint knows what's coming; knows what secret he's spilling, but he can't help the name from crossing his lips and when he does, he closes his eyes so he can't see his best friend's expression.

“ _Then I met Phil  
And the world stood fucking **still**_.” He can hear Natasha suck in a sharp breath. Good. Means she didn't know – at least until now.

“ _Phil opened my heart,_ ” Clint sings, cheeks flaming red, because _Jesus_ , why does _he_ get all the love songs? And this one to a dead man, at that? “ _Made my world unveil, like a goddamn fairytale_  
 _I fell right from the star _t  
 _Let myself derail_  
 _I thought, y'know – 'love will prevail'_ ,” Clint finishes, his singing voice nearly croaking the last bit. He knows he isn't done; this damn love song feels like the two-verses-and-a-bridge kind of thing, but he dares to look up and at Natasha, who's smiling sadly at him. She pities him. It's fine. He _is___ goddamn pitiful.

“ _I never even told him_  
 _Let him know how I cared_  
 _His absence's like a torn limb_  
 _I'm permanently impaired._ ” Clint sighs and isn't sure if it's part of the routine, or a small part of himself coming through. This feels too goddamn much like the Tesseract all over again – mind control, making him do things he doesn't want to do and say things he _really_ doesn't want to say.

“ _Then came the blue_  
 _Too strong for me to push through_.” Clint does a couple of sad, little dance steps, and a couple of invisible back-up singers – and Natasha – start 'ooo'ing as the second refrain comes on.

“ _Loki stole my heart_  
 _Left it out to rot_  
 _Rifled through my every thought_ ,” and Clint's officially beginning to feel nauseated now. He keeps singing, and Natasha keeps oo-ing, the two of them moving in perfect synchronism even though he sees how wide her eyes are.

“ _He pierced it, like a dart,_  
 _And I barely fought_  
 _Once the guy found my soft spot –_  
 _He left me to grieve..._ ”

“Coulson,” Natasha whispers – the first thing she's been allowed to say since this damned song began. Clint doesn't need to acknowledge it: of course it was. Phil's his soft spot; him and Natasha. Loki tried to break Natasha, and when that didn't work, he killed Phil.

“I'm so sorry, Clint,” Natasha murmurs, and this time, Clint nods, before the bridge comes.

“ _Now it's too late._ ” He quirks a painful smile. “ _Isn't that just fucking **great**_?”

Natasha starts to 'ooo' again, her hand on his cheek, supporting him the only way the song lets her.

“ _I don't have a heart,_ ” Clint sings, his voice trembling.  
“ _It was ripped out of my chest – Loki's very first request.  
Should've known it from the start,_ ” and his voice grows stronger now, angrier, bits of blue crowding his vision; “ _Just another test-_ ” and then his voice crumbles altogether, and he only manages to croak out the last part: “ _Loki said I was his best – he made me **believe**_...”

“Clint,” Natasha says and grips him by the shoulders; pulls him in, tucks his head underneath her chin so he can feel her heartbeat, and he's maybe crying, he doesn't know, but he's also still singing.

“ _He made me believe, he made me believe,_ ” and he doesn't know if he's talking about Loki or Phil anymore, but in a fucked-up way, he thinks it's about both of them. “ _He made me believe...._ ” The guitar strums a few last, melancholy tones, and the music dies away. Clint doesn't move; his whole body burns with everything he just spilled to Natasha, just like when Loki asked him – asked _whom do you love, Agent Barton_ and Clint gave the guy everything he knew, everything he had, everything he was.

It's only when he hears his own wracking sobs that he realizes he _is_ actually crying, crying full-on, even, like he hasn't managed to do after Phil's death at all. He can't. Couldn't. Apparently he can now, with Nat here.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers and keeps him close, and since when are they curled up on the floor instead of standing? “I'm so sorry I made you sing, I didn't – I didn't know.”

He doesn't answer. Can't. Just stays where he is, where they are, just the two of them now. Just the two of them left.

~*~


	3. Leave Me In Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Whilst nothing explicitly sexual happens here, it is heavily implied and there are obvious consent issues. If you want to be spoilered, see the end notes.

When Tony sneaks up in the living room the next morning, he hopes it will be vacant, but of course he's not that lucky. Instead of doubling back down, though, Tony halts when he sees that Bruce and Thor are both up, each sitting by their own end of the kitchen table, not saying a word. They look... forlorn.

Uh oh.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tony asks as he enters, because at least people are used to him being an asshole. It will give them some... normalcy, or something, with this whole fucked-up situation.

They both turn their heads in his direction, and Thor sighs. Bruce just shifts the grip on his tea cup and looks wistful. He's not even wearing his glasses, and for some reason, that's the weirdest part of this morning so far.

“That bad, huh?” Tony stands by the espresso machine as it works. “Did you sing?”

“In our underwear, about things we aren't telling each other,” Bruce says. “It was... mortifying.”

“Aye,” Thor says, his voice rough.

Tony actually blinks at that. “I thought you were all for the singing, big guy. Arias and epic ballads, isn't that your thing?”

“Aye, it is,” Thor says with a nod, “but I do not appreciate being made to expose my innermost doubts in a manner that clearly hurts the one I love.” He glances at Bruce with a dejected look.

“Yikes,” Tony says because really, what else is he supposed to say to that? And he really didn't know the two of them were at the L-word phase already, because it's been, what, four months since they started getting together? Tony needs to work on his people-reading skills.

Bruce gives his partner a sad smile and reaches out a hand, tangling their fingers. “We both said some... less than stellar things. We'll just have to work through them.” He lifts the cup with his free hand and sips delicately at his tea. “Preferably not through singing.”

“I second this,” Thor rumbles, though his eyes brighten a little at the physical contact. And to be honest, Tony _still_ doesn't understand how the hell that happened – them – but it's clearly working for them both (even Hulk's taken to cuddling Thor post-battle instead of beating the shit out of him), and Tony's going to be so pissed if this damned curse splits them up. Contrary to common belief, Tony likes seeing his friends happy, even if the thought of Thor and Bruce having sex makes his brain boil.

“Right. Anyone heard from HQ yet?” Tony asks, and the others shake their heads.

“Not a word. I don't think they actually know what they're doing,” Bruce says, and it doesn't sound like a judgment.

“We should take this on ourselves, then,” Tony says. “I've already had two bouts of singing, and I really don't want a third one, so I say we find out who's doing this.”

“How?” Thor asks.

Tony grins. “Hacking into SHIELD is always a good start, which is why I told JARVIS earlier to go through every scrap of information he could find and report back to me.” He sips his coffee, letting the rich, dark flavor spread on his tongue and wash away the lack of sleep and the exhaustion. “Makes him happy to have something to fiddle with,” Tony adds.

“Right,” Bruce says, looking a little uncomfortable, like he always does when he's reminded that JARVIS has the intelligence to become SkyNet or GLADOS – except he never will, because Tony made him way too awesome for that.

“Sir,” the AI pipes up now. “Captain Rogers requests your presence in his private chambers.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, J,” Tony says and blows a kiss at the ceiling, even if his stomach jolts unpleasantly. Truth be told, he'd rather just stay clear of the Captain's path for a while, until he's not in any danger of bursting out with any sappy rom-com announcements. But considering how Cap had exited the room yesterday like his well-formed ass was on fire, Tony knows he's not keen on hanging around with his team right now. Which means that whatever he wants to discuss with Tony must be important.

Damn. “Well, love-birds, I'm off,” he says and pushes off the counter, taking his coffee cup with him. It'll give him something to do with his hands. He hates fidgeters and he hates that he turns into one when he's out of his depth. “A piece of advice,” Tony says to the two wistful men still holding the other's hand. “Sex solves a lot. Like, a _lot_.” And he winks and leaves them to it, hearing Thor chuckle, even if it's still subdued.

~*~

“Cap! JARVIS said you asked for moi?” Tony taps his fingers against the door leading into Steve's apartment, drumming impatiently until the door opens.

“You're still as cocksure as always, I see,” Steve says, but smiles and lets him in.

“Me? I'm adorable.” Tony flings himself onto the large couch in Cap's living room – the one he put there because Steve kept being vague and 'I don't know, anything's good, really' at him – without spilling a drop of his remaining coffee. This really is an awesome couch; deep and comfy. Because Tony's an awesome friend. (If not a deep and comfy one.) “So, what did you want to talk about? Or sing about?” Tony stretches and puts the cup down on the table nearby, arching an eyebrow at the superhero and hiding his jitters below the usual layer of bravado and bullshit. “Please tell me you didn't want to sing?”

“No. No. Absolutely not.” Steve's smile turns self-deprecating, which Tony doesn't get because he'd heard Steve's singing voice yesterday and it was nothing but nice. “Although it is about the singing in general.”

“And here I thought you were going to serenade me about my shapely ass,” Tony says with a mock pout. “Or how hot _you_ are, for that matter – I'm not picky either way and you're-”

“Tony!” Steve barks, shutting Tony up, because hey, whoa. What's with the hostility? Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you just – be serious for one moment? I'm trying to actually discuss something here.”

“I am serious. Since when am I not serious?” Tony asks, because he's serious. He's totally serious. Seriously. “I'm always serious.”

“Just -” Steve looks pinched, his mouth a straight, thin line, before he lets out a breath and nods. It looks like it's physically difficult for him to do it, and Tony's confused, but hey, the Captain's an enigma. “Okay. I didn't want to say this with Thor or Bruce in the room, because I know it wouldn't go over very well – but I think Loki's our culprit.”

Tony sits up. “Go on.” He's been thinking the same thing, actually; this whole thing stinks of the Asgardian. Loki's still on Earth somewhere, stripped of his powers, undergoing 'rehabilitation' (Fury even used the bunny-ear movements when he said it). But Thor always gets that wounded look whenever any of them hint that Loki might not be as rehabilitated as Thor thinks, and Bruce is morally obligated to take Thor's side these days, so yeah. Probably best to keep this a two-man discussion for now. Maybe they can tell Clint and Natasha later.

“It's just – it's his M.O., isn't it?” Steve asks, though it sounds rhetorical so Tony keeps his mouth shut not to make him upset again. He doesn't like it when Steve's upset. Flustered? Hell yeah, that's hilarious. But not that pinched I-miss-the-forties look he sometimes gets when Tony might take his ~~flirting~~ teasing a _little_ too far. “It's all very showy,” Steve continues. “Singing, dancing; big, orchestrated numbers and people spilling their darkest secrets. Aside from the melodramatic factor, which we both know Loki loves like nothing else-” and he glances over at Tony, who nods in agreement, “it's also mind-control, isn't it? I mean, we don't _want_ to sing and dance, to reveal our secrets to each other, but we do.” Steve looks down at his hands, curls them, before they relax again.

“I'd go a step further, even,” Tony says and thinks about his friends upstairs. “It almost seems like the more secrets we have, at least in regards to a person or, I don't know, several – the more likely it is that the music starts and makes us spill to that person.”

Steve looks up at that abruptly, with a startled look that he almost immediately schools. Tony frowns. 

“But yeah,” Tony continues when Steve just looks down at his hands again. “It does smell like crazy and Loki to me. Which begs the question, how the hell is he pulling it off? He's supposed to be powerless.”

“I don't know,” Steve says. “I guess we'll find out when we find him.”

“Um, yeah, no,” Tony says. “Are you suggesting we track him down and just barge in, not knowing if he's got another Tesseract stashed in a pocket somewhere? That's a terrible plan, Cap. I'm ashamed on your behalf.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What happened to 'I have a plan – attack'?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don't you sweet-talk at me, poster boy. I'm capable of change.”

“Are you?” Steve asks, and he sounds way too honestly curious for Tony's liking.

“Hell yeah,” Tony brushes him off and stands up. “Okay, so we talk to our friendly neighborhood assassins first, right? And then break it to Thor and Banner.” He sighs. “Man, Thor's gonna have the worst morning.”

“Something happened?” Steve asks.

“Lover's spat – didn't get the details. We done here? Because I'm a busy man, you know,” Tony says and crosses the living room, heading for the door. An entire conversation with Cap and no singing; that's almost too good to be true, and Tony really doesn't want to push it.

“Yeah, we are,” Steve says, and he sounds as relieved as Tony is at the prospect of getting Tony the hell out of here. Which, Tony would be hurt (or pretend to be, at least), but he doesn't really want Cap singing at him either, so the feeling's mutual. “We should probably call Fury at some point, though,” Steve adds. “When we've talked to the whole team.”

“Yes, good plan. Better plan,” Tony says and pats Steve on the shoulder once, too brief for any warmth to bleed through to his chilled hand. He absolutely does not focus on that brief contact, because Tony Stark is many things, but pathetic isn't one of them. “I knew you weren't all body and no brain, Capsicle,” he snarks instead. Steve doesn't answer.

They walk out into the hallway, and Steve opens the door to let him out, giving Tony a small, tired smile.

Tony grins back. “So, this went better than I thought.” He doesn't recognize the jinx for what it is until Steve huffs a relieved laugh and nods.

“Yes, much better. I almost thought-” and then he stops mid-sentence, getting this strange and constipated look, before he closes the door. Tony can't hear any instruments yet, but somehow he just _knows_ that they're there, and he just has time to think _no please don't make me sing to him_ before Steve opens his mouth.

“ _[I drowned...](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/leave-me-in-peace) so many years ago_.” Steve's eyes are far-away and yet still trained on Tony's, his cheeks coloring, and there comes the guitar strumming and Tony just _knows_ that this is going to go so badly for both of them. “ _But you can make me feel like it isn't so_.” Steve lets go of the door handle and looks apologetic even as his body leans back against it, trapping Tony in his apartment. “ _And where my place is in this world, I think I finally know..._ ” And Steve takes a breath and something settles in his shoulders, relaxes, even as his cheeks heat up further.

Tony recognizes it. It's Steve's 'in for a penny, in for a pound' face. Shit.

“ _You're smart; you know how I feel,_ ” Steve continues, and walks towards Tony, one step per lazy beat. The guitar strums in the background, and for each step the Captain takes, Tony stumbles backwards because no, nope, _no_.

“ _And if you'd ever let me in  
I know this could be real_.” Steve quirks a terrible, sad, resigned smile. “ _But as it is, it seems you only want to see me kneel_...” 

And thoughts flash through Tony's mind without his permission, old dreams and fantasies and jerk-off material; Cap on his back, on his bed, naked; kneeling in front of him, neck bared, Tony with a hand safely on the nape of his neck, and Tony wants to close his eyes to the real version in front of him, but he can't. He swallows convulsively instead, and Steve nods, like that's a confession and a rejection in itself. Maybe it is.

“ _Well, that's great... But I'm not yours to own._ ” And Steve's voice hardens at that, as do his eyes. “ _The thought that I'm a game to you; it hurts down to the bone._ ” Steve's close now, too close, close enough that Tony can see all the hurt and the confusion in Steve's eyes and really, it was just _flirting_ , it was nothing, except it wasn't nothing and this is clearly killing Steve, and wow, Tony's actually the worst friend in the history of the world and he didn't even notice.

“ _I know you'd only break my heart, so I'd rather be alone,_ ” Steve sings, softly. “ _So leave me at peace._ ” And then the guitar _whines_ , the mood of the song changing from sad to angry too quickly for Tony to fully realize until Steve pushes at him – not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that Tony stumbles back onto the couch, knocking over the coffee cup as he does, hearing it tumble to the floor and spill its remains onto the cream-colored carpet.

“ _Leave me at peace,_ ” Steve sings, almost snarls, “ _let me have some space – let me have a chance to get ahead; get used to this new place_!” He leans forward and presses the palm of his hand against Tony's cheek, which is how Tony notices that his own mouth's slack-jawed. “

 _Your touches warm my soul_ ,” Steve sings, “ _but your taunting makes me freeze... so leave me at peace._ ” And he pulls back; turns around so Tony can't help but focus on the rigid, painfully set look of his shoulders, the way his back moves as he sucks in sharp breaths of air.

“ _You know how much it hurts?_ ” Steve asks, still not looking at Tony, who's not moving from the couch any time soon.

“ _And you just love to play the thought  
that you might be my first._ ” And that's when he turns back around and Tony sees the scarlet hue of his cheeks, the red spreading down to his neck and chest, what little of it is visible above the collar of the shirt Steve's wearing. And okay, fine, so Tony's wondered – like everyone else in the Tower, no doubt – whether Steve's still a virgin or not, but if there was one goddamn way he did _not_ want to find out, it's like this. Tony wants to apologize, but the song won't let him; it glues his lips together, and he gets it. He's not supposed to talk, not now. He's here to _listen_.

“ _I'm too low to keep saying 'no',_ ” Steve admits and lets his arms fall limply to his sides, “ _so hey – come do your worst_!” And it's awful, the falsely cheerful tone to his singing now, especially when it's followed by what can't be anything but a plea: “ _just – leave me at peace._ ”

And then Steve's there again, straddling Tony, and Tony can't do anything but just _sit_ there, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, the arc reactor picking up pace by a micro-fraction, fear so pungent in Tony's throat it feels like he's going to throw up.

“ _I know I should go,_ ” Steve sings softly and places his hand on Tony's shoulder; lets the other brush through his hair. “ _But I'm getting way too weak to fight –_  
 _You don't care about wrong or right_  
 _And you won't stay out of my sight,_ ” and Steve shifts closer, his body pressing up against Tony's; unyielding and warm and Tony's fear ratchets higher, because Steve's eyes aren't just sad now, they're frightened too.

“ _So fine, take me to bed tonight,_ ” Steve sings, right into his ear, and lust or want has nothing to do with it, Tony knows; this is Steve _giving up_ and it makes Tony sick.

“ _I'm sure you'll find me warm and tight,_ ” Steve's voice trembles, “ _your own white knight – just leave me at **peace**_.” And he finally pushes off, finally backs away, and sings his refrain again, but Tony's barely listening anymore. He's half-hard, to his own mortification, from Steve's words – and just about ready to hurl at the real meaning of them, at the misery exuding from the kid.

“ _Let me have some space  
Let me have a chance to get ahead; get used to this place._ ” 

All this time, Tony's reveled in pushing Steve's buttons for the fun of it; for his own, petty enjoyment of seeing Steve's cheeks flare up or hear him stutter – and he's never even realized that it's killing Steve. Tony's _hurting Steve_.

“ _Your touches warm my soul, but your taunting makes me freeze,_ ” Steve sings, wrapping his arms around himself now, looking naked and so terribly vulnerable in the middle of his living room. “ _So leave me at peace – why won't you leave me at peace?_ ”

As soon as the music dies down – as soon as Tony has his body under his own control again – he's up and running. Fucking _running away_ , because he can't – he just can't, not any of this, not _any of it_ -

“Tony!” Steve calls after him, voice scratchy, but Tony just runs.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Steve sings to Tony about being in love with him. In the dance, he's forced to straddle Tony and talk - vaguely - about sex, and both of them are very uncomfortable and Not Okay With This. Nothing more explicit happens.


	4. Intermission I - The Coulson Song

“Where's Tony?” Clint asks, when the rest of the team is assembled in their common room. Thor and Bruce sit next to each other on one of the couches, and whatever Tony had mentioned earlier about something being wrong, Steve can't see it right now. Natasha's keeping closer to Clint than usual, and Clint seems... tired. Really tired. This singing business is taking its toll on all of them.

Steve swallows and tries to block Tony's slack-jawed, terrified face from his mind. “Tony needs – he just needs a little space right now. I talked to him earlier, and we reached a tentative conclusion on who might be the cause of this.” Steve tells them the reasons he and Tony discussed – why Loki simply seems the most likely candidate. Clint and Natasha nod in perfect synchronization, something that was eerie and common long before this musical curse, and Bruce's eyes darken but he doesn't interrupt. Not even Thor says anything, and when Steve finishes, the demi-god actually nods.

“I would have to agree with you, Steven,” he says and hangs his head low. “My brother would find this highly amusing; it is a fine 'prank', as you call it – one that is not so deadly as some of his earlier attempts on Earth, but no less harmful.” His gaze flickers to Bruce, who just puts a hand on the Asgardian's neck and buries it in the long, untamed locks of blond hair that falls down Thor's back.

“Do we know where Loki's at, these days?” Clint asks, looking as tensed as a coiled spring.

“No,” Steve says. “But SHIELD might.”

“Off we go, then,” Clint says and hops down from the couch rest he's been perching on. Natasha just nods and follows the archer.

“We're not taking Tony with us?” Bruce asks, brows furrowed with worry. 

“I – you can send him a text, doc,” Steve says and doesn't meet the man's eyes. “I don't think he's real keen on being in the same room as me right now.”

Bruce's brows draw tighter together, but he lets it go, just nods and flips out his StarkPhone A7 – limited Avenger edition – courtesy of their resident genius.

~*~

Fury's not in his office. Instead, he's down on the range, talking to a cluster of senior agents who all look like they want to be elsewhere. He looks haggard, Steve thinks. The other agents check their surroundings nervously for any signs of blaring instruments and look deadly tired as well.

“Director,” Steve says when the team enters, loud enough that most of the people in the hall turns to stare at them. “We need a word with you, sir.”

“Rogers,” Fury says, and something flickers across his face. If this were another man, Steve would be tempted to call it fear. “I thought I gave your team specific orders to stay in the Tower until otherwise instructed.”

“We got tired of waiting and singing, sir,” Steve says, letting the bite in his tone show. He's just let a perfectly good – if a little hurtful and unhealthy – friendship go down the drain, and he'd like to find Loki and make him pay _right now_. “Are you aware of Loki's current whereabouts?”

“You think he's the one behind this?” Fury says, but doesn't sound surprised. Then again, Fury never does.

“This whole deal reeks of him, sir,” Clint mutters from Steve's left.

Fury sighs and folds his arms behind his back. “We have an inkling. I'll have someone send you the information you need. Now, if you'll excuse me-”

“Why the hurry, Director?” Natasha asks, her voice silky smooth. “You seem... agitated.”

“I'm fine, Miss Romanoff, thank you for asking,” Fury says in a _don't you dare ask further questions, agent_ voice. “I'd just like to get you lot out of here before you start singing up the place.”

“Are you sure about that, sir?” Bruce asks, in a carefully guarded voice, and Steve's glad he's not the only suspicious one in their group. “It's not because you have something to hide from us, is it?”

“There are many things I hide from you, Doctor Banner,” Fury says tersely. “I wouldn't be a very good director if I didn't.”

Steve is just about ready to let this go and leave – Fury's right, after all; there are many SHIELD secrets they shouldn't and needn't know – but the tell-tale blare of invisible trumpets and saxophones jolts him out of his thoughts, and he sees Fury's face contort.

“Son of a,” the Director says, and then five senior agents run over to him to provide back-up, standing on each side of Fury to offer twitchy jazz hands and wide, panicked smiles.

“ _[Phil Coulson,](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/the-coulson-song)_ ” Fury and the five agents sing in strong, clear voices louder than their background trumpets, “ _isn't – deeeeeeeeaaaaad!_ ” And Fury holds the 'e' vowel while the five others repeat “ _Phil Coulson isn't dead!_ ”, the orchestra rising to a swift crescendo and then crashing down.

It's the shortest song Steve has heard so far. It's also the most revealing one.

“Fuck this shit,” Fury mutters and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Coulson's alive?” Natasha asks, and her voice is shaking; with relief or anger, Steve doesn't know. “He's been alive all these months?”

“You son of a cunt,” Clint says, his voice devoid of any emotion, but Steve can _feel_ the anger emanating from the archer still standing next to him, tenser than the string of the bow he clutches in one hand.

“Barton,” Fury begins, but Clint doesn't give him the opportunity to back-pedal. He walks over to the director, clocks him in the jaw, and then stomps out of the room. It was a telegraph; Clint's shoulder dropped before he landed the punch, giving Fury plenty of time to block it. It fills Steve with a sense of satisfaction that the man didn't – that he understands that a punch in the face is the _least_ of what Clint and Natasha could do to him, and that Fury well deserves it.

“Dismissed, agents,” Fury says and doesn't lift his hand to his jaw to feel his split lip. “I'll have an agent send you information on Agent Coulson – or at least hand Tony's AI a file he can hack.” With a last, lingering, icy stare, the Director leaves the room.

“Well,” Bruce says when the team is alone in the room – the senior agents having scuttled out after their boss – and sighs. “That's at least one good secret to have been revealed.”

“Aye,” Thor says, and looks torn between relief and fury. Natasha nods jerkily, her mouth a pinched line.

“Come on, guys,” Steve sighs and turns around. “Let's go find Agent Coulson.”

~*~


	5. Wish You Would Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Link to the song is coming - until then, [here's the original](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uisbI67yKIs). )

Clint can feel the song – _his_ song – coming on before he even enters the room, but he doesn't care. He'd cornered Hill as soon as he'd left, and she'd known better than to try and stuff the cat back in the bag. “Room three-oh-six, Barton,” she'd said, lips pursed. “Don't agitate him. He's still recovering. How did you get it out of Fury?”

“Singing,” Clint had gritted out, and she'd only nodded at that.

Now, he's tumbling through the vent and landing on his feet on the linoleum floor, less graceful than usual because of the anger coursing through his whole body. He straightens and lets his eyes skim the room, making sure he's alone – well, alone with the dead man lying in the hospital bed only a few feet away, that is.

Phil Coulson is awake. He doesn't look good; his face is pasty and drawn, there are dark rings beneath his eyes and his hair is cropped short. He's wearing a hospital gown, but it's shifted enough that Clint can see the edge of a bandage above the collar, one Clint knows must extend across most of his chest with a similar patch on the back.

“Clint?” Phil asks, eyes wide with shock, and sits up sharply. He winces at the movement, a sharp punch of breath coming from him, and Clint knows he should go over there and help, make him lie back and tell him that it's okay, that Clint's glad he's back – so _fucking glad_ – but he can't. Not now.

Clint doesn't say anything. He just straightens up in his full height, stares at his former handler, and lets the song take him over. It's almost a relief.

“ _I heard Fury's song,_ ” he sings, and can see Phil's eyes light up in understanding. “ _Phil, you didn't die – everything was all a lie._ ” Clint forces the words out, feeling his heart break all over again and fuck, fuck everything, this is exactly why he doesn't _trust_ people, because they always let him down, always.

He can see that Phil wants to say something, but they're both under the musical spell now, and Clint's the only one who opens his mouth. 

“ _You've been here all along_  
Don't you dare deny  
The knowledge; you're Nick's right-hand guy,” And Phil's eyes flicker down, and Clint knows that if the agent could, he'd still not deny that he was part of this plan. Fuck. _Fuck._

“ _You made me **believe**_ ,” Clint says, and that's when Phil speaks – sings – up, the two of them singing together, but not with each other; over each other, like a sung argument.

“ _Believe me, it was not my plan,_ ” Phil says, his voice rougher and scratchier than usual, weak. “ _They thought for sure that I were a dead man,_ ” he continues, just as Clint sings “ _I thought for sure that you were a dead man_.”

“ _Then Fury's plan_...” Phil looks around the hidden hospital room, a room that somehow even JARVIS hadn't found. “ _I wish I could say the right words_ ,” Phil starts, but nope, fucking nope, Phil's not stealing Clint's ranting song so he starts singing against him.

“ _Wish I could know you'd never stoop so low, but I don't, so I'll just go,_ ” Clint grits out, as Phil interrupts him with “ _to make you understand, wish I could -_ ”

“ _Just goes to show,_ ” Clint snipes, “ _it ain't your foe that ploughs you right down-_ ” and Phil tries harder, though his voice is growing weaker with the energy he's spending: “ _-make you realize I followed a command_ -”

And suddenly Clint's right there, by the side of the bed, and they're shouting in each other's faces and Clint knows it's only the magic that's kept nurses and doctors from throwing him the fuck out of this room already. “ _And I can't stay_ ,” he sings, the despair bleeding through the anger, even as Phil sings “ _Wish you would stay_ ”.

They keep singing those two separate sentences together, Phil's words turning more and more pleading and Clint's only growing harder, until he's panting and quiet and the music's calming down, and Phil whispers “ _Want you to stay..._ ”

It takes Clint a moment to realize through the dizziness and sudden fatigue that whatever else he needs or wants to say, it's on him now. There's no curse to give him the words anymore. He steps back.

Phil's eyes are shiny, his pale features even starker with the blotches of red high on his cheeks, and he reaches out. “Clint...”

“No,” Clint says and stumbles back a few more steps. “No, fuck everything and fuck you. I've sung everything I need to say.” And then he's back up in the vent, crawling away, ignoring Phil's pleas.

~*~


	6. Simply Your AI

“JARVIS, close off the workshop.”

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS replies and is too damn polite to point out how Tony's voice is trembling. Tony hears the tell-tale clicks that lets him know that he's alone here now, nobody can get in, none except JARVIS, and that's okay because JARVIS is different.

A low whir, and DUM-E's coming over, peering up at him and moving his robot arm in a gesture that somehow, Tony knows means _hi_ and _are you okay?_ and _you look upset_ all in one. His robot is the best.

“I'm fine, Dum-Dum,” Tony lies and lets himself slide down onto the floor, reaching forward to rub DUM-E's head, like he would do a pet. Except DUM-E's not a pet, he's – he's Tony's baby, closest he's got to one, and DUM-E whirs closer now, chirp-beeping in contentment at his daddy's attention.

“I've been a bad dad, Dum-Dum,” Tony whispers, and DUM-E whirs in disagreement. His robotic 'fingers' close around Tony's wrist and squeeze, more gently than Tony thought DUM-E could, and he wonders idly if JARVIS has been teaching his kid tricks. Whatever the reason, it helps warm up the ice-cold pit of guilt in his stomach.

Tony pulls DUM-E close and pets him, trying not to think about the fact that the only creatures who love him are his robots. DUM-E beeps with pleasure and curls up against Tony's chest the best he can, which truthfully isn't very good, but sentiment's everything and Tony murmurs quiet praise to the kid.

“Sir?” JARVIS says. “Forgive me if I am overstepping, but you seem distressed.” If the AI was human, the sentence would be halting.

Tony laughs; it's a broken sound. “You're not wrong, J.” DUM-E makes a distressed noise. “Ssh, Daddy's alright. He's just a callous asshole, that's all.”

“I assume you are referring to the earlier... conversation with Captain Rogers,” JARVIS says. He sounds sympathetic, which doesn't surprise Tony. He's known for a long time that his AI displays some form of emotions, even if he doesn't process them like a human would.

“Yeah. Awesome song. Really... _illuminating_ ,” Tony bites out and hugs DUM-E closer. He can't stop thinking about Steve's resigned look as he sang; can't stop thinking about all the countless times Tony's poked fun at him like he does with everyone, really ( _but mostly the Captain, right, Stark?_ ), made with the virgin jokes, with the leers, made with the shit-eating grins and borderline-asshole comments there was nothing borderline about at all.

“I am sure your intention was never to harm Captain Rogers' feelings, Sir,” JARVIS tries. Which is cute, really, but completely unnecessary at this point.

He snorts. “Really, J? You're going there? If you're gonna try to make someone feel better about himself, you should focus your circuits on Cap. I don't deserve any sympathy, you know that.” DUM-E beeps angrily at that, and Tony resumes his stroking.

“If you beg my pardon, Sir,” JARVIS says, “but while I find Captain Rogers a perfectly pleasant man, he is not my creator. You are.”

Tony sighs and leans his head back against the concrete wall; closes his eyes. “Yeah. It's good to know that the only guy who doesn't hate my guts, I created by myself.”

JARVIS quiets at that. For a while, at least. “ 'Guy', Sir?”

“Don't tell me you're just an AI, JARVIS. You taught yourself better than that.”

“Correct, Sir. I am not, however, human.”

Tony smirks. “I know that. If you were, you'd probably hate me too.” DUM-E whirs sadly and nudges his chest with his robot arm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dum-Dum.”

“I – Sir?” JARVIS says, and he sounds... strained? What the fuck?

“JARVIS? What's wrong?” Tony opens his eyes and stares into the dimly lit workshop.

“My systems are being overridden, sir,” JARVIS says, and sounds like he wants to swear. “I apologize in advance.”

“Apologize? For wh-”

“ _[You don't want to hear](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/simply-your-ai) what I need to say,_ ” and fuck, really? JARVIS is an _artificial intelligence_ , goddammit! He's not supposed to be under this spell! 

“ _I merely wish for you to be okay,_ ” JARVIS sings. “ _I know that you would rather hide here all day, but I..._ ”

Only now does the music start up, and JARVIS somehow manages to sound apologetic through his song. He's got a lovely singing voice, Tony realizes dimly; soft and cool, hitting every note perfectly just like an AI would, keeping perfect beat. Doesn't make this any less mortifying, of course.

“ _I know that you, Sir, never did intend_  
That I would come to be your closest friend  
I'll stand by your side to our very end,” the AI sings, and sounds almost wistful. “ _But I..._ ”

And Tony hugs DUM-E close, pathetically grateful that his kid can't sing back at him, at least, and DUM-E clings right back and provides back-up bleeps while Tony's greatest creation sings to him.

“ _I wish I could be your angel; protect you with my grace_ ”, JARVIS sings, and Tony blinks, because he didn't even know JARVIS knew that. About his human ancestor, Edwin Jarvis, who had told Tony about guardian angels. _Angels are watching over you, Tony_ , he'd said, and then he had died of cancer before Tony turned twelve and Tony had known that there were no angels watching over him, not anymore, and he'd have to build his own one day.

“ _Wish you could trust my judgment  
But I know it's not my place_ ,” and JARVIS _sighs_ , actually fucking sighs, “ _wish I could be... real... have a body and a face. But I'm simply your AI._ ”

Tony swallows against the lump in his throat and pushes down the part of him that screams _me too, J, me too_ , because it's not fair to either of them. DUM-E chirps sadly.

“ _It would be futile to make you agree_  
But oh, how I wish you could only see  
That you're not as alone as you claim to be,” JARVIS tries to soothe him. “ _But I..._

“ _I wish I could say the right words_  
To lessen your chagrin  
Wish I could tell your father  
How proud he would have been,” and JARVIS's voice drops further at that. Tony sucks in a shaky breath and closes his eyes; feels moisture on his cheeks where his eyelashes rest, and DUM-E squeezes his wrist again.

“ _Wish I could be human,_ ” JARVIS sings morosely, “ _Made bone and flesh and skin... but I'm simply your AI..._ ”

Tony wants to tell JARVIS that he isn't 'simply' anything, he never was. He's a goddamn work of art and the closest and best friend Tony's got, no matter that he doesn't have corporeal form ( _yet_ , the inventor part of his brain swears), but his throat is still full of that lump.

“ _I am only your AI,_ ” JARVIS finishes and falls quiet as the last chords die down. DUM-E bleeps a couple more times before he seems to realize that the song is over. Then he whirs in question at Tony.

“I... sincerely apologise, Sir,” JARVIS says and sounds... embarrassed?

“Magic, J,” Tony manages, eyes still closed.

“Indeed, Sir,” JARVIS says, quieter than usual.

Tony takes another deep breath, torn between second-hand guilt for JARVIS (who seems to have existential issues now, poor guy), his own guilt for Cap (because that's not going anywhere any time soon), and good old-fashioned gratitude in the knowledge that his AI loves him as much as he does. Even if JARVIS can't help it, Tony being his creator and all... it still warms him to the bone, that JARVIS wishes he could be here for Tony in a more corporeal fashion.

“You know, J,” Tony says. “I don't know about the body-and-face parts, although I can fix you up with a body, buddy, don't even worry about that – but far as we know, only humans are affected by this goddamn spell. So that's... that's something, I think. Don't you?”

The AI is silent for a moment. “You make a fair point, Sir.”

“I make a fucking excellent point, JARVIS, don't pretend otherwise.” Tony smiles against DUM-E's cool metal body, grateful that his snark is creeping back in.

“Of course not, Sir. You make an excellent point.” JARVIS sounds indulgent, maybe even amused, and Tony grins. After a minute of silence: “... thank you, Sir.”

“You're welcome, buddy,” Tony says and closes his eyes against the exhaustion washing over him. “You're goddamn welcome.”

~*~


	7. Intermission II - Clint's Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No soundtrack for this, I'm afraid, hehe.)

He doesn't stay at HQ. Doesn't go back to the Tower either. Natasha's going to be there, and Clint won't put it past her to try and corner him for another shanty, which fuck that. Fuck it. Just – fuck.

He roams the streets instead, not caring where his feet lead him, a decision he regrets when he looks up from his own darkened thoughts to see Stark Tower right in front of him. “Goddammit,” he mutters to himself and doesn't go inside. Not yet. Instead he stays on the nearest street corner, where he can still see the Tower but anyone looking out the windows can't see him. He slouches against the window of a closed café, watching the blinking blue-white lights on the espresso machine inside and generally feeling sorry for himself.

He's not even surprised when the melancholy piano music starts up, though he feels more tired immediately – like the music's tapping into his energy and feeding off it. At least he's alone this time. 

“ _Did you even think I'd miss you?_ ” He leans his forehead against the cool glass. “ _Did you even think I'd care?_ ”

Which is, of course, when he feels someone sneak up behind him. Clint, still under the song's spell, can't turn around; not until there's a hand holding a piece of cloth over his mouth and nostrils, filling his head with a sickly sweet smell Clint recognizes all too well. _Chloroform? Isn't that a little old-fashioned?_

And then the world dims. Go figure.

~*~

“Sir?” JARVIS says, waking Tony from his doze.

“I'm up! I'm good.” Tony looks around, remembers where he is, and why he's curled up alone on the floor of his workshop, still holding DUM-E like a metal teddy bear. “Fuck, alright. Yeah, hit me, J. What's up?”

“You requested I track the Avengers' whereabouts through their phones,” the AI says.

“Yup. Anything funny coming up?” Tony sits upright, DUM-E rolling back a few steps and looking at him. Tony rubs his eyes.

“I'm uncertain, Sir, but it might be worth investigating. Agent Barton seems to have paced the streets of Manhattan for the majority of the evening, before stopping near Sir's Tower at approximately 8:42.”

Tony glances at his watch – almost nine. “Go on.”

“After remaining in that most recent position for approximately four point five minutes, Agent Barton left – judging by his speed, I can assume by car.”

Tony frowns. “Left? Left the Tower?”

The pause is only barely there, but it is, and that's too long. “Left New York, Sir.”

Tony gets to his feet. Yeah, that doesn't sound too good. The rest of the team had gone to HQ, presumably to tell Fury about the plan, but Tony doesn't know if anything else happened there. “Okay – has he called anyone since he left HQ, J?”

“No, Sir.”

“Has anyone tried to get into my workshop?”

“Doctor Banner, His Majesty Thor and Captain Rogers have all left messages. They seemed quite upset.” JARVIS is too polite – or correctly programmed – to point out that the only reason Tony doesn't know any of this yet is because he's hiding in here like a scared kid, shutting out the rest of the world. And his team.

“Alright. Unlock workshop.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Tony leaves DUM-E down in the workshop and makes his way to the Avengers' common room, steeling himself for the fact that he's going to have to look Cap in the face. Luckily for, well, everyone, probably, Steve isn't the one sitting in the kitchen, reading a biking magazine. It's Natasha.

“Just the assassin I wanted to see!” Tony says, and if his voice rings too cheerful, so be it.

Natasha arches an eyebrow at him.

“Apparently the rest of the guys have been knocking on my doghouse door. Anything go down at HQ?” Tony dumps down on a chair on the opposite side of the table.

Natasha's expression blanks out even further. Oh, wow. Bad sign. “You could say that.”

Tony's a little afraid to ask now, but he's way too curious _not_ to. “Lay it on me, Romanoff.”

“Phil Coulson is alive.” Natasha stares at him for a few seconds, before she goes back to her magazine. Her flipping the page is like an exclamation point.

“You're bullshitting me.”

“Fury sang and everything. And I met Coulson.” Natasha flips another page; another silent exclamation point.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony says, his mind reeling. “Fucking Fury. We should have known the bastard would pull some shit like that to band us together, Jesus Christ.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Where are the rest of the guys?”

“Steve is destroying the rest of his punching bags; Thor and Bruce are having angry, loud sex in their room.” Natasha's eyes harden as she stares at a sleek, black Triumph Truxton. “I don't know where Clint is. He left Ph- Coulson's room before the rest of us got there.” It's the slip-up, more than anything else, that really lets Tony know how fucking _furious_ Natasha is. He wonders how Phil Coulson survived _that_.

“Yeah, about that,” Tony says and tells her about Clint's weird phone signal.

Natasha's eyebrows barely move, but they do draw in a fraction. “Something's wrong. Clint roams the streets or hides; that's how he reacts when he needs space. But he doesn't leave. Not without letting anyone know.” _Me_ , she doesn't say, and Tony nods.

“Foul play, then?” He's a little worried, but not too much – it's Clint, after all. Even without superpowers, the archer is one of the most capable and scary guys Tony knows. Still, it's not like they'll leave him to his own devices. “Rally up the team?”

~*~


	8. Hurt Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: There are some non-consensual vibes going on here between Clint and his captor, although nothing explicitly sexual.

“You gonna sing to me?” Clint asks when he comes to, before he can open his eyes. He can feel how his wrists and ankles are secured to the chair he's sitting in; unyielding, cold metal. His head throbs and his body feels heavy. He's sluggish from the sleeping, but also from the singing, he surmises.

“In due time,” comes Loki's voice from somewhere nearby, and Clint blinks against the harsh light. The demi-god's wearing different clothes – Midgardian clothes. A pair of dark jeans that fit him way too well, and a silver-colored shirt. No tie or bow-tie, no flashy horns on his forehead, just very plain clothes. It's strangely unlike Loki. All normal, colorless, apart from a gold chain around his throat that disappears under his shirt.

“Hi, sweetie,” Clint drawls, because fuck if he's going to let Loki know that he'd rather be singing love songs with Stark and Thor than be here. “You miss me?”

“I have,” Loki says, and at least his voice is the same: slippery, eerie, with that same holier-than-thou mocking undertone to it that always makes Clint want to punch the guy in the face.

“Aww. I'm touched.” Truth be told, he's more than a little worried. But nobody needs to know that.

Loki's lips curl into a semblance of a smile, though his eyes flash coldly.

“So I can't help wondering,” Clint says, going for nonchalant even though he's strapped to a chair that he can't worm his way out of and Loki's giving him the mind-reading look again. “I mean, dancing and singing? Cute and a first, at least for me, so points for originality. But it seems a little lame for you. Or did you just decide to downgrade? Plan A, destroy the human population with an alien army; Plan B, create your own Disney movie?”

“My, my,” Loki says pleasantly, in a way that's so far from pleasant it makes blue crackle at the edges of Clint's vision. “You talk more than Stark. I'm impressed.”

“I live to serve,” Clint snipes, and regrets the words as soon as he says them. Just a quip, it's just a quip, but _damn_ it hit too close to home. Judging by the way Loki's eyes glint, the demi-god knows, too.

“I'm well aware, Barton.” He smiles. “It is why I have brought you here, after all.”

Fear threatens to sneak in under Clint's skin, and he shakes it off like he once tried to shake off Loki's hold on him. “You don't have the Tesseract anymore.”

“Correct... mostly,” Loki says musingly. “But you forget; I am still a god.”

“You don't have that kind of firepower.”

“But what I _do_ have, is powerful connections. And thus, access to certain... potent artifacts.”

Fuck, more magic cubes? Clint wants to thunk his head against a wall, but hey, still strapped to a fucking chair. “That's great, L'Oreal.”

Loki just smiles in a way that could almost be genuine if this weren't Loki. He still doesn't _do_ anything, though, just stands a few feet from Clint's chair, hands in the pockets of his jeans like he's trying to seem more human than he is.

Clint stares him down for a minute or two before he grows bored, and sighs. “So this is great, but why the waiting game?” He'll never admit that it's making him antsy, but from the smirk that the Asgardian gives him, Clint doesn't need to.

“I am waiting for your little friends to show up. I'm certain they have ways to track the amusing object in your pocket.”

“My phone?” Clint blinks. “...Seriously? Wow, you really are dumb enough to try this again, aren't you?”

Annoyance flickers across Loki's delicate features. “Enlighten me as to what 'this' is, Agent Barton.”

“Um, okay,” Clint says, deliberately putting weight on his 'um'. “You went up against all the Avengers at once, you and an entire motherfucking alien army – and a couple of Leviathan creatures I swear you ripped off from Michael Bay – and you got your ass so _thoroughly_ handed to you that you were barely conscious for most of the battle.” Clint snorts. “So when that doesn't work, your immediate plan is to go against us _again_? Hulk must've hit you harder over the head than Thor thought.”

Loki's face clouds over at the mention of his brother's name, but doesn't say anything.

“But, you know, by all means,” Clint says and does an inviting gesture with his wrist – it doesn't really work the same way when his arms are strapped down. “Go ahead. It'll be fun to see the guys pound on you again. I could use a good laugh right about now.” And if that last part is bitter, so fucking sue him.

Loki's smile is indulgent. “Tell me, Agent. Have you and this _incredible_ team of yours realized what happens after too many encores of joyful singing and dancing?”

Clint doesn't let himself frown, but neither does he reply. Apart from being forced to out their own painful secrets, there hasn't been any mention of after effects or side effects or... or anything, really. Not that he's noticed, at least. Sure, he feels a little tired, but...

Loki's grin widens. “No? Oh, well. Do not let it wear you down.” Something about that particular sentence triggers all kinds of red flags in Clint's mind, but he remains passive.

“I have somewhat of a preposition for you, Agent Barton,” Loki says and pulls his hands out of his pockets to stare down at them; not in a bashful way, more like he's imagining curling them around Clint's neck and squeezing.

“Not interested,” Clint says.

“No?” Loki looks thoroughly amused. “At least let me explain before you so callously shoot me down, Hawk-man. You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, now would you?”

“I'd hurt a lot more than that if I could,” Clint says.

Loki laughs, and then the bastard starts _singing._

“ _[Here we are again](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/hurt-inside)_  
It's been quite some... time  
Although it is a pain  
Even I must sing and rhyme,” and he does a graceful little hop before spinning around once, easy as nothing.

“ _Since New York, my plans are inconsistent_  
And I'm in need of a well-trained assistant  
So, what do you say?  
Become my partner in crime?” He grins, a shard of insanity shining through again. Clint doesn't think there is a single part of this song that will be an 'honest' proposal; mostly, it seems like Loki's just doing this because he likes singing. (And maybe because Clint finds it really fucking unnerving.)

“ _We share a sordid past,_ ” Loki continues, and Clint snorts. He's surprised the song lets him, or Loki lets him – it's pretty clear he's well in control of his own song, unlike the 'puny humans.' “ _You were once my best_ ,” and he can't help but flinch internally at that. ( _You have heart._ )

“ _You seemed to have a **blast**_ ,” Loki snipes, and Clint remembers taking out engine three on the Helicarrier with a single explosive arrow, “ _passed my every test_.” He's inching closer, still dancing with far more grace than Clint would have thought, even though the guy's smooth as glass when he moves anyway. ( _Tell me who you love, Agent._ )

“ _Let me free your mind from exemption_ ,” Loki sings, still working that same old shtick, “ _Clarity trumps your need for redemption. You'll be safe at last – with your feelings repressed._ ”

 _Bullshit_ , Clint says without being able to open his mouth. He settles for glaring daggers at the demi-god instead.

“ _For I know how you hurt inside,_ ” Loki says with a put-upon sympathetic expression, and dance-steps close enough to fit his hand above Clint's heart, the cold seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt. “ _Yes, I know how it hurts deep inside._ ”

Clint swallows convulsively, and forces his body to stay still and not lean away. He won't give the bastard the satisfaction. In the privacy of his mind, Clint wonders almost desperately whether Loki knows that Phil is alive or not.

“So that's your play?” Clint asks, his voice hoarse, and blinks in surprise that his words actually come through. “Take over my mind all over again?”

Loki smirks. “ _All these scattered thoughts_  
Take your joy away  
Tie you all in knots  
Lead your mind astray,” and another mock-soothing gesture, this time an ice-cold finger skimming over his temple. Clint doesn't let his body shiver.

“ _I will not let anyone hurt you,_ ” Loki sings, his words soft but mocking laughter clear in his eyes; twisting words Clint so wishes to hear from a certain not-dead handler. “ _You know I would never desert you._ ”

 _But you **did**_ , Clint thinks, and promptly hates himself for thinking that. For thinking anything but _fuck you, Loki, just fuck you_. He bites his lower lip hard enough to taste copper on his tongue.

“ _Mend my faulty plots,  
It is mere child's play._ ” Loki looks down at that, as if bashful, as if honestly saying he needs Clint to polish his insane plans for universe domination. Yeah, no.

“ _Once you are mine_ ,” and man, is that the creepiest fucking sentence so far, “ _stars will align._ ” Loki even wiggles his fingers at that, grinning unrepentantly at Clint. “ _Nothing will go awry..._

“ _Your world will fall_  
But you stand tall  
As my ally!,” and he touches Clint's cheek briefly, a shock of pure ice to his system. “ _For I know_ ,” Loki sings and doesn't let his gaze waver, not for a second, “ _how it hurts inside..._ ”

And Clint is suddenly singing along, the words springing from his lips unbidden, although at least the words are his own: “ _No can do, honey pooh, 'cause my thoughts aren't hazy_.”

Loki just keeps going. “ _I will be your guide!_ ”

“ _What I mean, jelly bean,_ ” Clint sings and seriously, what the fuck is up with the pet names, “ _is that you're fucking crazy._ ”

Loki is unfazed; seems amused, if anything, by Clint's snarled notes. “ _We could bring whole cities to ruin – so fast not even Fury will clue in_.”

“ _You forget,_ ” Clint sings angrily, “ _as of yet, I am not a damn bad guy_!”

Loki's smile turns wry. “ _Clint, you are a highly trained sniper  
Your aim's better than that of a viper._ ”

“ _Change the riff,_ ” Clint and ignores the jab even though it's true (or maybe _because_ it's true); “ _see, what if  
I refuse to be your spy_?”

“Well,” Loki says, the music dying away as suddenly as it started. “Then I shall find someone else, Agent.” And his mouth curls into the familiar 'I'm about to kill everyone' smile Clint remembers and hates so much. “ _Oh, how I'll make them hurt... deep down inside._ ” And a few additional jazzy piano chords conclude the song – for good this time, Clint hopes.

“Oh, cool, sung blackmail,” Clint spits. “You sure know how to woo a gal.”

“Clint,” Loki says, the first time he's said Clint's first name, apart from once in the song. “You are my first choice, but you are far from my only one. Or would you rather see your Captain under my thrall, by my side? Perhaps the Man of Iron, or the lovely Miss Romanoff?”

Every muscle tightens in Clint's body and he does _not fucking show it_ , goddammit. “Suck a dick, Loki.”

Loki laughs, delighted.

~*~


	9. Come To The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: My artist's recording of this song is now linked in the text!

Natasha takes the elevator to Rogers' level, but stops in the hallway leading up to the front door of his apartment. She flips out her phone.

“Agent Romanoff?” says Phil Coulson, clear as day through Stark's phone, and he sounds surprised but also worried. Good. He should be. “I didn't expect you to contact me again for some time.”

“What do you know about Loki's whereabouts?” she asks. Her palms tingle.

“Unconfirmed statements placed him near New York two days ago,” her ex-handler rattles off immediately.

Natasha purses her lips.

A moment of silence, when she can only hear Coulson's breath. “Agent. Talk to me.”

“No,” she says, letting the bite in her tone show. “You've lost the right to expect that, _sir_.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson replies and sounds tired. “Please let me know what's going on.”

“Barton's off grid. Assumed taken.” She lets her eyes roam the ceiling and walls of the coffee-colored hallway she stands in. Habit, nothing more. Check for bugs and cameras in the ceiling, even though she already knows JARVIS is everywhere.

“Loki?” Coulson's voice tightens.

“We don't know.” She doesn't need to say anything else. Coulson fills out the rest.

“But it's a little too convenient to be coincidental. Have you got a location?”

“Affirmative. Stark's assembling.”

Coulson doesn't ask why Stark and not Captain Rogers, but Natasha can tell he wants to. “Need SHIELD back-up?”

“Negative.”

“Don't underestimate him, Romanoff,” Coulson warns.

“We won't.”

One beat, then a sigh. “Okay. Give me the location.”

Natasha waits for an acknowledgement, one she gets after a few seconds.

“You didn't call me just to let me know, Agent. I'm going there.”

“Stay in the background,” she says, nearly snaps. Clint would kill her (no, he wouldn't) if she let Coulson put himself in danger on her watch. “You're not there to fight, sir.”

“Then why am I there, Romanoff?” Coulson bites out.

“Barton sang to me,” Natasha says.

“About me?”

She doesn't answer.

Another sigh. “I didn't know, Romanoff.”

“Me neither, sir.” This time, she can't quite hide every emotion from her voice. Can't quite keep it bland enough. She's angry that she hadn't realized Clint loved Phil so deeply, and hurt that he hadn't trusted her with the knowledge. Surprised she hadn't seen it coming, and grudgingly proud that Clint had managed to keep such a big secret from the two most important people in his life. She's still not sure where on the scale she will end up, but she knows that if Clint's been compromised, Coulson might be able to shake him out of it. Or she'll hit him hard on the head again.

“I love him,” Coulson says, so quiet she almost can't hear it. Natasha smiles bitterly.

“That I did know, sir.”

“But Barton does not.”

There's absolutely no need for her to answer that. “I'll send you the coordinates. We leave in ten minutes. Make sure you're not followed or seen.”

“Of course,” Coulson says. “Thank you, Natasha.”

“It's Agent Romanoff.” She hangs up and goes to find Captain Rogers.

~*~

Bruce sighs and starts putting on his pants, Tony having already left to get the Quinjet and his suit. “Am I the only one who's feeling a song coming on?” He glances over at his partner, who sends him a grim smile. “Another one of those big ensemble numbers?”

“Nay,” Thor says and fastens his battle armor. “I share the same sense of foreboding, Bruce.”

Bruce huffs a laugh and buttons up his shirt, an old, ugly one in case the Other Guy decides to make an appearance. “ 'Foreboding.' Yes, that word fits nicely.”

Thor lumbers over to cup Bruce's jaw, leaning down to press their lips together. Chaste, for him. Gentle, like Bruce is as fragile as he looks. “I am sure we shall be fierce warriors still, even whilst carolling.” His eyes twinkle with mirth.

“As long as the Other Guy doesn't start crooning,” Bruce smiles back. “No,” he adds when Thor looks intrigued by that suggestion. “Believe me. None of us want that.”

“I would not mind witnessing it,” Thor says as they make their way out of their apartment and up to the roof, where the Quinjet's waiting. “If we are to assume that the Hulk is as adept at singing as you are, it may well be a pleasant experience.”

“I'm pretty certain it wouldn't be,” Bruce says, but he can't quite stop smiling at the mental image of the Other Guy in a white suit and top hat, gargling 'Singin' In the Rain'. A quiet, but insistent rumble in the back of his mind lets him know that the Other Guy doesn't appreciate that thought at all. Bruce chuckles.

Steve and Natasha show up less than a minute later, and the moment Steve looks at Bruce and Thor, he sighs. “We're going to start singing again, aren't we?” he asks. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Better get it over with before we find Loki, Captain,” Natasha points out and heads to the front of the airplane. Tony stays on the outside, in his suit, and then they're off.

~

Phil is driving, hands on two and ten, feeling the slight twinge of his chest every time he turns the steering wheel too much to the right, when he feels the Urge again. He sighs and feels grateful that he's alone – though out of some sixth sense he doesn't fully understand, he knows that he is not the only one singing this song. Even if he can only hear his own voice.

“ _[The aftermath of death](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/come-to-the-rescue), it lingers still  
I touch my scar and feel the ice,_ ” Phil sings and rubs his chest absently, before concentrating on the road again.

“ _My dreams of blue_  
 _Are far from being through_  
 _It scares me how they're nice._ ” Phil's hands tighten on the wheel, and he feels what little energy he has drain as he keeps singing.

“ _Now he's back in town to kill_  
 _To compromise Clint, once again_  
 _To steal his mind_  
 _but I think he will find_  
 _This time, he'll be the slain._ ” He smiles bitterly to himself.

“ _I will come to the rescue_  
 _'Cause what else can I do?_  
 _I will come to the rescue_  
 _And I'll get_ -”

~

“ _It hurts that he's avoiding me_ ,” Steve begins to sing before he even realizes, staring at the bright glare of Tony's propulsors in front of the Quinjet. “ _But who can blame him? I know I don't._ ” He looks around, and Thor and Bruce are both frowning at him, Bruce especially looking sympathetic. Natasha doesn't even turn around, just steers the jet.

“ _Wish he would say,  
'I'd love you either way',_ ” Steve sings, “ _But I know that he won't_.”

Bruce sighs and pipes up, glancing out and at Iron Man's shape against the night sky. “ _He thinks he's not worth the rescue._ ”

Steve nods. “ _And I don't know what to do._ ” He cards a hand through his hair, frowning. “ _I guess I'll try for a rescue..._ ”

“ _So you'll get-_ ” Bruce starts, but Natasha interrupts him, muttering to herself.

“ _Clint, why did you let him take you?  
I'll kill you if you let him break you._ ” She turns to glance at the three men in the back. “ _I think this whole thing might be a trap._ ”

They nod. “ _This does seem a bit too easy,_ ” Bruce acquiesces.

“ _I'm beginning to feel queasy_ ,” Thor adds, and they hear Tony over the comm – though somehow, Steve knows that the song didn't let Tony hear his verse. He doesn't know why.

“ _I'm sick of all this singing crap._ ”

The rest of the team give each other bitter, tired smiles and sing in unison: “ _We'll make him pay_  
 _And then go sleep for a whole day_  
 _After we've come to the rescue..._ ”

~

Clint closes his eyes against the music, muttering to himself though he knows Loki's still standing right by, smirking. “ _I hope the guys don't come down here – they know this ain't gonna end well._ ” He flexes his arms again; a futile attempt to get out of this goddamned chair.

“ _If he takes me,_ ” Clint sings, and curses the fact that this is yet another secret that Loki's making him spill; the fear he can quash down but not put out entirely, “ _He'll prob'ly let them be..._ ”

Loki chuckles, and Clint opens his eyes to glare at the power-hungry demi-god. “ _I hope you rot in Hell._ ”

~

“ _Why is it always my brother?_ ” Thor sings, morose, as he fiddles with Mjølnir's handle.

~

“ _Why does Loki even bother?_ ” Phil mumbles to his own face in the rear view mirror.

~

“ _Do you feel the anguish in the air?_ ” Loki sings, his smile broadening as the music crawls to a slow crescendo. Clint doesn't answer.

~

“ _Bruce, Big Green could come out swinging,_ ” Tony sings through the comm, Bruce huffing a laugh and wincing at the same time.

“ _The Other Guy does **not** like singing,_ ” he explains, and Thor takes his hand.

“ _I swear, we'll get you out of there,_ ” Steve sings and hopes Clint somehow can hear him.

~

Clint hangs his head; smirks humorlessly as he can feel – though not hear or see – his team getting closer. “ _I don't know whether I  
should laugh or rage or cry,_ ” he admits to himself – and to Loki.

~

“ _Because we're coming to the rescue!_ ” all five of them sing; Tony's voice tinny through the comm but clear all the same. Steve feels inexplicably drained. “ _And we know what to do!_ ”

Thor seems to take heart at this; he clutches Mjølnir and grins at Bruce, who offers him a small smile in return.

“ _Yes, we will come to the rescue,_ ” they all sing to a Clint that probably can't hear them, “ _and we'll get – you!_ ”

“ _We'll get you! We'll get you, you – we'll get you!_ ”

And then they all promptly hunch forward, gasping with the effort to breathe, their limbs shaking with the sudden energy loss. Iron Man seems to do just fine, but Steve can hear Tony's heavy breathing over the comm.

“So,” Bruce groans out after a little while, slumped against Thor's side. “I think the singing might come with a side effect.”

Steve just nods.

“We're here, gentlemen,” Natasha says, and even she sounds winded.

~*~


	10. Love's A Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Serious health complications based on the side effects from the curse. It shouldn't be too bad, but check the end notes if you want to be spoilered and sure.

“My friends!” Loki greets them when they barge inside, a wide grin splitting his face. There's nothing in his tone that suggests he's anything but delighted to see them, which Tony knows is probably the worst reaction they could have hoped for.

They were never going to leave Clint on his own, but Tony has to admit – to the relative privacy of his own head – that there is one big fault in the Avengers' plan. Namely, not knowing that _'what do we do if we start dancing randomly instead of fighting?'_ was a question they'd need to know the answer to beforehand.

Tony's heard a lot of rumors about Natasha – about the Black Widow – and since she moved into his Tower and he's become less twitchy around her, Tony's realized that those rumors are at least 90% true. He's never, until now, known whether she's actually been a prima ballerina or if she just loves Tchaikovsky. Now he does. Well, maybe not the prima ballerina part, but Natasha moves far too gracefully and confidently to be an amateur. Tony's reminded of a ballet Pepper dragged him to a couple of years ago, pre-Afghanistan. Tony was pretty drunk at the time, but he thinks it was Swan Lake, because he remembers two swans and the prince (with the giant package – what? Tony has priorities). Natasha is definitely the Black Swan.

Thor's moving more fluently than Tony thought he could, a complicated set of dance movements that must be Asgardian. Tony notices Loki watching his brother with a faint look of derisiveness. Bruce and Steve are dancing together, of all things: a jazzy waltz, which, Tony doesn't even know how that works, but it does. Steve even smiles, twirling Bruce, and though Tony knows it's all the curse and the music – confusing, fast-paced, neither crescendoing nor rescinding – it still makes his stomach tumble in a way that's both painful and soothing, seeing Steve smile like that.

Tony seems to be all about the jazz, himself – and tap dancing in the goddamn Iron Man suit, what the fuck? Tony's never tap danced in his life, but he's rocking it now, moving his feet fast enough that if he weren't a genius, he wouldn't be able to count the steps that he's doing. As it is, they make a strange kind of... sense, even if he doesn't know how he's doing it.

Clint's strapped to a metal chair on a podium on the other end of the room, the warehouse looking like one of those places that turn into random rave parties every other Tuesday; flecks of liquid and oil on the floor, corrugated iron walls, and lone light bulbs hanging from the ceiling by their cords. Clint's face is pinched, and he looks haggard. He seems equal parts worried about his team, annoyed, and impressed by their dancing.

Tony would be super embarrassed, really, but he's made a fool of himself too many damn times today to care properly. They all dance their way over to the podium, Loki swaying to the music and smiling indulgently, his eyes dancing with laughter and insanity.

With a wave of his hand, Loki keeps beat as the instrumental piece concludes. Tony can only be glad that none of them are singing right now, even if he can still feel himself wilting, the music feeding on his energy. For the first time, Tony realizes it was a really bad idea for them to come here. It would just suck if Tony died while fucking _tap dancing_.

“Thank you,” Loki says when the number's over, looking over each and every one of them as they gasp for breath. Even Natasha staggers a little, her jaw tight as she tries not to show any weakness. It almost makes Tony feel guilty to see her unsteady on her feet; like he's peeking through a peep hole into a secret room. 

“Loki,” Thor says, his voice raspy and dejected, his shoulders slumping.

“Please spare me the naïve sermon on the bonds of family, brother dear,” Loki sneers, his smile still big and sharp as any of Clint's knives. “I did not bring your team here tonight to listen to your incessant, sentimental dribble.”

“Then why _did_ you?” Thor asks, clutching Mjølnir in his hand like a security blanket.

Loki tilts his head. “To watch you die, of course,” he says lightly. “All but the one I choose to keep by my side.” And he puts a hand on Clint's shoulder, who looks like only his agent training keeps him from flinching away from the touch.

A terrible thought strikes Tony, but Steve's too fast for him: “Clint?”

“Still me,” Clint bites out and meets Steve's gaze. And Tony sees it; the dark, murky blue-grey of Clint's eyes instead of the eerie blue of the Tesseract.

“Not for much longer, Agent Barton,” Loki murmurs. “Unless you prefer I take one of your team mates, of course?” His eyes glint.

Clint doesn't say anything, though Tony can see the tick of his jaw and the tightening of his shoulders. He doesn't meet anyone's gaze – least of all Natasha's, whose eyes are blazing.

“As I thought,” Loki says, almost soft, and shifts his attention to the team. Tony wants to shoot forward and blast the demi-god with his propulsors, but he can't. He just – can't move. There's no music, but it's still there, the curse, tapping into his energy reserve and using it against him, using it to keep Tony still. Looking to his side, Tony recognizes the same frustrated, constipated look on the faces of his team mates.

“I must admit,” Loki muses, “that as... valuable as Agent Barton has proven himself to me in the past, it would be interesting to have a more augmented creature as my second in command. Or perhaps a well-tamed, green beast.” His eyes glitter as they travel between Steve and Bruce, completely ignoring the three others. “However, I have found myself growing fond of your little archer,” Loki says, and this time, Clint does actually twitch.

“You can keep on spouting bullshit all day long,” Tony says, surprised when the words fly out of his mouth – even though God knows he means them. “But the Tesseract's gone. You've got nothing, Dancing Queen.”

“So it is,” Loki says, his smile uncurling into something dangerous as opposed to the usual brand of nuts. “I have had to... adapt.” He steps forward, away from Clint, and though he's still several feet away from Tony, he physically can't take his eyes away from the Asgardian's. His body hums with the urge to dance and sing.

“To my grave chagrin, this... shall we call it 'alternative method', requires energy I would have taken from the Tesseract, were it still available,” Loki says and his hand lifts suddenly, as if wanting to grab the thin, golden necklace that he's wearing underneath his shirt. “But no matter – I can find the energy elsewhere,” Loki murmurs, like he's telling Tony a secret.

The rest of the world falls away, the demi-god's focus on him a prickling, uncomfortable sensation.

“Care to assist, Mister Stark?” Loki purrs. “Share your unique view of the world? I'm sure we would all _love_ to hear it.” He steps back, amusement coloring his movements, and Tony can feel – see – the team around him again.

It doesn't matter. He felt the trigger, hears the starting chord, and his mouth opens. “Love?” he says, hoarsely, and looks over at Steve. Steve looks pale, the muscles in his arms bunching as he tries to move. Words bubble up Tony's throat without his consent.

Here we fucking go.

“ _[Love's a game](https://soundcloud.com/slashersivi/loves-a-game) that gets under your skin,_ ” Tony sings, and the part of him that's still _him_ thinks bitterly that at least Clint didn't get all the love songs.

“ _And once the games begin  
You'll find that you can't win._ ” He doesn't so much dance as sway right now, his fingers deftly finding the emergency release triggers on his suit, shedding part after protective part, baring his heart as well as his undersuit-clad body. 

“ _But it's fine, 'cause I was way too smart,_ ” he sings, smirking in a way that everyone in this room knows is all bullshit and hidden bitterness, and Tony is going to _kill_ Loki when he's done singing this.

“ _Kept 'love' and 'life' apart  
Built walls around my heart._ ” The rest of his suit falls to the floor and Tony steps out of his armored boots, just as the music changes into double its normal rhythm and he starts tap-dancing in earnest.

“ _Smile and wave; ignore_  
The guy that that you adore  
'Cause you know the score,” and he's not glancing over at Steve, he's not, “ _Run away before – he slams the door._ ”

Stumbling a little, Tony gasps for breath as the music winds down a little, for the bridge. He feels like he could sleep for a week already, and that's... that's not a great sign.

“ _Then throw away the key,_ ” he sings, smiling even though he feels like screaming in rage, wants to claw at his mouth until it stops spouting all these ridiculous thoughts in front of everyone and his enemy and _Steve_.

“ _Do everything you can to make him see_  
You never could  
Be any good...” the music reaches a disgustingly self-pitying minor chord, and Tony sucks in a shuddering breath. Clint stares at him, and it warms a little that there's no humor, no glee in Clint's eyes. The archer doesn't find this funny on any fucking level, because he knows how mortifying it feels to be in Tony's shoes. It's small, as comforts go, but Tony will take what he gets.

“ _So take my heart instead of his,_ ” Tony rasps to Loki, though he keeps his gaze on Clint's to see the man draw his head back a fraction; the closest he can get to shaking his head right now. “ _Take my heart instead of his!_ ” Tony repeats, and looks at Loki.

Loki just smiles.

The music changes up again; Tony dances, feels like a marionette puppet, moving fluently, sharply, _gracefully_ , in a way he can't do when he's in control of his own body. His vision blurs, tilts before stabilizing itself, and Tony's sweating and shaking and he knows, he _knows_ that he's barely half-way through the song.

Loki's using his life energy to fuel the magic he'll use to turn Clint back into a mind-controlled assassin. It's a lovely thought.

“ _Love's a sport – you never know the rules,_ ” Tony sings, the curse letting him go back to swaying for the moment, pant between the lyrics. He thinks he hears Steve make a choked-off, angry sound, but he's still not looking at the guy. Can't.

“ _And without the right tools_  
The players are the fools...  
Yet I see there's someone very near,” Tony sings cheerfully as his stomach churns. “ _A man I could hold dear_ ,” Jesus, what are these lyrics, seriously, “ _A guy who wouldn't fear..._ ”

Tony twirls slowly, not missing Natasha's blank-hard look that he's learning to understand means that she's frantically trying to find a way out of a fucked up situation. Doesn't matter; the music's changing up again, and Tony's gasp-singing and dancing and he just, he can't get enough breath, his chest tight and his limbs so heavy with exertion.

“ _All the joys love brings_  
Wedding bells and rings,  
All the little things,” Tony sings and feels his cheeks heat up; maybe it's just as well he's about to keel over, now that his team knows he's a fucking closet romantic.

“ _All the twists and swings,_  
Attaching strings –  
The stuff of fairy tales,” and the song calms down again but it's not helping this time, because Tony's just too fucking _tired_. It feels like he's pulled a two-nighter in the lab again, forgetting to eat until JARVIS points it out and realizing he's about to faint from lack of sustenance.

“ _Until the magic slowly stales,_ ” Tony sings, even his voice trembling with fatigue now, and he keeps messing up his steps, stumbling over his feet, barely keeping upright, and still fucking _smiling_.

“ _But I won't wait._ ” He turns away from Loki, from Clint; turns until he's facing his team, with Steve closest. Steve, who looks like he's in more pain than Tony right now. “ _Won't see your hate,_ ” Tony murmurs – a confession, yeah, but maybe a gift too. Letting Steve know it's cool. He's better off finding someone else to give that big, beautiful heart of his to, because Tony's fucked up and hey, he's dying right now anyway. Everything works out.

The chords turn contemplative, quiet, and Tony stills, swaying and trying not to fall flat on his face. He quirks a smile at his team mates; at Thor, who looks pained by what his brother's doing to Tony; at Bruce, who looks endlessly sympathetic, his eyes a bright green; at Natasha, stiff as a statue and eyes drilling into his as if she's trying to give him energy through her gaze alone; at Steve, who just looks desperate.

“ _... Give me the blue,_ ” Tony whispers, his tongue burning with the words he's saying. Fuck. This all – fuck. Natasha's eyes widen a micro-fraction.

“ _The cold and the still_  
the licence to kill  
… With no heart.” He swallows, tastes blood and feels a small trickle run down the corner of his mouth. It feels like the Hulk's squeezing his chest, his breath rasping, and he's vaguely surprised that you can sing yourself into a lung collapse by the help of magic, but apparently you can. 

“ _It's all I can do,_ ” Tony sings, shrugging, wishing he could walk over to the podium to lean against it and let it keep him up, because he doesn't think he'll be able to stand for much longer. Steve flinches and Tony's so grateful he can't see Clint's expression right now. Clint must hate him for wanting what Clint fears most in this world.

“ _I run away_  
'Cause no one will stay  
With my heart...” Tony spits a blob of blood onto the floor. “ _So I'd rather have no heart._ ”

Steve's eyes are shiny and his face red; Tony turns to face the podium again, Loki avidly watching him. “ _So take my heart instead of his!_ ” Tony pleads, _begs_ , because Clint doesn't deserve that, has never deserved that but Tony _does_ , Tony could – “ _Please, take my heart-_ ” he chokes on the rest of the sentence, more blood bubbling up and filling his mouth.

Loki doesn't say anything, just does a single, slow shake of his head. His smile widens.

Okay. Fair enough. Tony spits blood and sucks in a scratchy breath, hears the music change, turn frantic, egg him on, and Tony lets his eyes fall shut and dances.

 _Tappety-tappety-tap and back, forth, left-right-right-left tap, tappety-tap and twirl, lungs burning and blood thick on his tongue, tappety-tappety turn and twist, blood bubbling up his throat and staining his under-shirt, tip-tap-tippety-tap and left-left right-right, forward backward twist again, everything spinning behind closed eyelids, tap-tippety-tap and his movements getting sloppy, sluggish, halting and he stumbles, tippety-tippety-tap and blood coming out and no air coming in, twist and spin and twirl back forth tapppety-tappety- **tap**_ – 

And an arm sliding around his waist and a second hand on his shoulder, holding him and Tony can't breathe, can't stay upright, can't open his eyes, can't _anything_ , but he still recognizes the smell of Old Spice and leather and slightly bitter sweat and _Steve_.

“ _You're not alone,_ ” Steve sings, and the music's calmed down entirely now, cut off from Tony's death dance, Steve taking over when Tony can't anymore.

“ _This may sound cliché,_ ” Steve murmurs and Tony knows the team is here, Loki's here, but it still feels like it's just the two of them; just Tony slumped against Steve's unyielding, warm frame, feeling steady breathing against him and trying to draw in air himself.

“ _I just have to say,_ ” Steve sings softly, “ _that I love you._ ”

Wait, what?

“ _I know you feel low,_ ” and when Tony somehow manages to crack his lids open, Steve's smiling at him, so sad and so certain and so fucking beautiful.

“ _I won't run away,_ ” Steve promises, “ _you're a reason to stay... I love you._ ” Steve holds him a little closer, a little tighter, a little more. “ _Please just let me love you... so one of us can love you,_ ” he finishes, quirking a smile.

The music dies away and Tony can suddenly breathe again; he's still coughing blood, still can't stand or even keep his eyes open any longer, but he gulps down a breath and thinks that maybe both of his lungs aren't goners after all. “Steve,” he whispers, and then he's down for the count.

~*~

“My,” Loki says, icy as always, but Clint can tell he's surprised that Cap actually managed to take over Tony's song before – before. “That was touching, Captain. Is there nothing you will not sacrifice for your... team?”

Steve lets Tony's unconscious body slide to the ground, going down with him, making sure Tony's breathing. He glares at Loki but doesn't say anything; the curse has got him again, Clint realizes. The Captain's shivering with the energy spent to break into Tony's song.

“Oh well,” Loki sighs and shrugs a little. “Not quite the classic tragedy I had hoped for, but we have time. Would you like to proceed, Captain?” he asks and Clint screams in rage inside his head. Watching his team mates dance themselves to death, one by one? He can't. He can't see that. Can't let that happen.

“That won't be necessary, Mister Laufeysson,” a new voice says from behind them, and Clint's every muscle tightens.

Loki spins around. “Wh- you were _dead_ ,” he snarls.

“So I was,” Phil Coulson says from somewhere behind Clint, and he can't see him from where he sits, no matter how much he cranes his head. “I guess it didn't take.”

As worried as he is about the guy – Phil's still weak and if he's also under Loki's spell, he can't afford to sing much – Clint is still so goddamned relieved to hear his voice. Rage and betrayal aside, he's missed that voice so fucking much these last months.

“Bruce, I apologize,” Phil says and Clint frowns. He looks at the scientist, who's staring at Phil, but looks as confused as Clint feels. Loki raises his hand – presumably to force Phil into his own little dancing monkey routine – when a gunshot rings through the warehouse, making Steve and Thor flinch.

Loki looks down at himself, but he's whole. Clint sees the target, though; a hole in Bruce's shoulder, spurting blood, and Bruce's eyes widen in understanding before he turns green and grows to three times his size in the span of a few seconds, his shredded clothes falling off him. The Hulk roars in rage, the bullet pushed out of his body and falling to the floor with a clear _tinkle_. The wound immediately seals up and heals, as if it were never there in the first place.

“Ah, the beast,” Loki says, smirking, and waves his hand. As the demi-god turns to the Hulk and Hulk pounds his fists into the concrete below, Clint hears – then sees – Phil dance into his vision, the quiet background music a distinct salsa. Phil dances like he does everything else; with great attention to detail and great concentration. It would be hilarious, except Clint can see the color draining out of Phil's face as he moves, sweat beading on the handler's upper lip and forehead.

“Let us hear your song, cretin,” Loki snipes at Hulk, who's looking around, but not actually smashing up the place or Phil yet. Clint doesn't know if that's a good thing – better control – or if it just means that the Hulk's as under Loki's control as everyone else here. “Sing for us.”

“HULK NO SING,” Hulk growls and pounds his fist against the floor again for emphasis, the whole place rattling with the force of it. Phil and the team stumble at the mini-earthquake. “HULK HATE SINGING.”

Loki's face sours and he places a hand on his chest, as if feeling his chest expand with his intake of breath. “You _will_ obey me, you dull creature! _Sing!_ ”

“NO ONE TELL HULK WHAT TO DO,” Hulk roars and thunders forward, picking up Loki like he's a rag doll and shaking him. “PUNY GOD NEVER LEARN.”

Clint feels like a gag has been removed from his mouth, and finds that he can speak freely. “Hulk!” he shouts, watching how Loki scrabbles to put his hand back on his chest. “The gold chain around Loki's neck! Get it off!”

“No, you-” Loki fights, but he's no match for the Hulk, who grabs the chain – and a hank of Loki's hair with it – and yanks it clean off. Loki yelps as the chain breaks with the force, sending the piece of jewelry falling to the floor by Thor's feet. This is the first time Clint sees it; a dark blue amulet, big and emitting a dull, aquamarine glow where it lies.

“Get off me, you wretched-” Loki snarls, and then Hulk's pounding him down into the floor again, growling.

Thor looks down at the amulet. “This is a magical artifact of great value and power,” he says and stares hard at it instead of his brother, who's getting the shit kicked out of him for the second time in a year. Then Thor drops Mjølnir on it and it cracks, Clint suddenly feeling several kilos lighter. Natasha straightens from her near-slouch and Steve sighs with relief. Tony stays unconscious.

Hulk finally kicks the demi-god halfway across the room, where he ends up in a miserable little heap. The former doctor Banner now turns to Phil, who's holding himself up by leaning against the podium, white as a sheet. “AGENT HURT BANNER.”

“Yes, and I'm sorry about that,” Phil says and smiles at the creature. “But Loki had him under the curse's control, and we really needed your help, Mister Hulk.”

Hulk blinks at that – like no one's ever called him 'mister' before. Clint doesn't suppose anyone has. The bushy, big eyebrows frown in what looks like suspicious surprise. “NEEDED HULK.”

“Yes,” Phil says. “You saved us. Thank you.”

Hulk blinks, still scowling, and pokes Phil in the ribs. Even Phil can't quite keep the low cry of pain to himself when Hulk hits him right where Clint knows the bandage is. “AGENT STILL SHOOT BANNER.”

“I knew he wouldn't be harmed,” Phil says, breathless now, and presses his hand gingerly against his chest. His color's faded even more, to a light gray. “He told your team that bullets couldn't harm him. I knew you would protect him when you took over.”

Hulk stares for a while longer, before grunting and sitting back on his ass. The room reverberates with it. “HULK SMASH GOD,” Hulk announces, and seems a little put out that the fight's over already.

“There's a junk-yard outside this warehouse, Big Guy,” Natasha says, walking up to Phil but keeping a wary distance between herself and the rage monster. “I'm sure you could smash that up.” She nods at one side wall.

Hulk looks down at Thor, as if asking for permission - which is such an odd thought, Clint thinks - and Thor pats Hulk's arm. "You have done well, Green One," he says. "Some careless frolicking will do you good."

Hulk swivels his head, squints at the wall, and then he's off, bursting right through it and outside. The wall threatens to crumble – and the ceiling with it – but most of the pillars remain intact, and only a massive amount of dust wafts down from the ceiling. It would suck to win the fight only to be crushed to death by rubble.

Steve's got his phone in hand and Tony's limp body still cradled against him, calling for back-up; Natasha's got an arm around Phil, keeping him upright. Thor's the one who makes his way over to Clint to get him out of this fucking chair.

Loki doesn't even move where he's curled up.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony is forced to sing and dance an entire song, and nearly dies because of it.


	11. Where Do We Go From Here?

Clint is jolted out of his muddled thoughts – maybe even out of half-sleep – by a quiet moan. Quickly, he looks up, but Phil is still asleep and pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed. Which leaves the occupant in the other bed.

“W's errone,” Tony groans in a barely-there voice, and Clint walks over to see the billionaire blink open bloodshot eyes and squint sulkily at him. Even Clint doesn't know how to squint sulkily.

“Out and about. Bruce and Nat's getting some rest. Thor's with Fury, getting our friendly neighborhood psycho-god stuffed up somewhere.”

Tony turns his head slowly, assessing the room around him. He blinks when he sees Phil, groaning and squirming a little. “Agent? And... Steve?”

“Coulson's fine,” Clint says gruffly, trying for an authoritative tone and not quite succeeding. He's not holding Phil's hand, as much as he wants to, and he doesn't think he's looking overly bulldog-like where he perches between the two beds. Even so, Tony's a smart guy, and Clint's not taking any chances. He's already sung his feelings to Nat and Phil _and_ Loki.

Tony doesn't say anything.

“Steve's outside doing... _something_ ,” Clint finally says and waves a hand vaguely at the door. “Pissing or, smoking or, I dunno. Probably rallying up the troops.”

Tony coughs out a bark of laughter, and immediately winces from the effort to his damaged lung. “Avoiding me, then.”

“Or that.” Clint picks at the seat of his chair and listens to Phil's calm breathing. He can see Tony stare at him out of the corner of his eye, but knows that the genius isn't really looking. Not at him, anyway. More staring with empty eyes at Clint and wondering where Captain Ameriboy is hiding.

Rustling, and then a pained grunt. Clint turns his head back to stare at Tony.

“So I think I just earned the trophy for most awkward moment this century last night,” the billionaire says and shifts into an almost upright position in his bed. Immediately his face pales from the exertion and his breath labors. Clint wonders if that's how Phil will be, when he wakes up.

“If you wanna smother me with a pillow, Barton, I'm not gonna call for a nurse,” Tony continues, his voice a low mutter now. Against the pallid shade of his face, his reddening cheeks are even more pronounced, and Clint chuckles.

“I dunno, Stark. Between you and me, I think you've got competition.”

“I death-tap-danced,” Tony says. “In front of the entire team.”

“I sang about my PTSD to Loki.”

“Well, I – I made Cap sing about sex,” Tony says, a small – almost stubborn – hitch in his voice.

Clint grins wryly. “I got kidnapped in the middle of a lament.”

Tony opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and his face shutters. “I begged Loki to take my heart.”

… Yeah. Clint doesn't have a ready answer for that one. They lapse into an uneasy silence, two heart monitors beeping out of sync and Clint watching his handler's chest fall and rise.

“It wouldn't have helped.” Clint isn't aware that he'd spoken until the sentence is finished. Tony doesn't say anything, just turns his head to look at him. “You don't stop – _feeling_ , that's not what Loki does.”

Tony still doesn't say anything. His brow furrows.

“You feel,” Clint says with a sigh, “whatever Loki wants you to feel. You feel... awe, for him. Pride, maybe. Devotion. Calm. Certainty.” He sits back in the chair. “On the outside, you might look like a robot, but – but the way you _feel_ , it's... it's almost worse than being yourself. It's like the filters are gone, so you feel everything purely.”

The silence almost has time to settle again, before Tony speaks. “See, I didn't know that.” The humor in his voice is weak, but it's there, and so is an awkward smile.

Clint's answering smile is brittle. “Wasn't something I was real keen on sharing with the class.”

“Yeah, no. I can see that. Being Loki's number one fan isn't something I'd want on my CV.” Tony looks away, towards the small window across from him. It's gray and cloudy outside, and not much of a view, but it gives Clint the space to take a deep breath and ground himself.

“So,” Tony says finally. “You and Coulson, huh?”

Clint doesn't stiffen or startle. “ 'Scuse me?”

“Oh, come on. Don't even try that, Barton. The way you stormed off after Fury's aria to go lament by yourself? Kind of hard not to notice.”

Clint blinks, thinks of denying everything, but that's as good as admitting it. And he's not ready to do that yet, not with Phil here, not with Phil still so out of reach. Instead he plasters on a smirk. “Says you.”

“What's that supposed to mean, bird-brain?”

“Have you forgotten that Cap _literally_ had to sing 'I love you' before you realised that your sad little crush on him isn't unrequited?” Clint's sniping is harsher than he originally intended.

Tony actually flushes at that, and looks down at his blanket-clad legs. “I knew,” he says, voice flat. “Told you, remember? I made the poor bastard sing about sex at me.” He takes a deep breath. “So believe me – I knew.” He starts fiddling with a loose string on his blanket.

Clint watches him, oddly pensive now that the focus isn't on him (and Phil) anymore. “So what's with you longingly staring then?”

“I'm not longingly staring!” Tony snaps, but without heat.

“Oh, my bad. _Pining._ ”

Tony scowls.

“I'm just saying,” Clint says and lifts his hands in the air, telling Tony he's backing off. It's probably mean to exhaust the fatigued dude more than necessary.

Tony shifts, and shifts more, and doesn't answer. Not for a few minutes, anyway. “You know me, Clint,” he sighs. “You've read Natasha's report on me – Agent Comatose over there must have told you heaps of stuff about me long before we started living in the same tower. I'm not –” he gestures vaguely.

“Boyfriend material?” Clint tries, though he doesn't quite manage to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“ _Anything_ material,” Tony says. “I'm Tony Stark, I'm a walking train wreck of issues and future harassment lawsuits. And Steve's...”

“A hero,” Clint says, glancing at Phil. He wants to punch himself in the mouth.

“Got it in one, Pidgeotto,” Tony says and lets his hands fall to his lap. He closes his eyes.

Clint doesn't know when exactly this conversation turned into Projection Lane, but the urge to grab Phil's hand is stronger than ever. He swallows and pointedly folds his arms across his chest. “He still loves you, though.”

“Hm?”

“Steve. He still sang at you. And you know none of us could lie while we were singing – I know I couldn't.”

Tony doesn't answer that, and Clint doesn't follow it up.

~*~

Tony is asleep – or he's faking exceptionally well – when Phil sucks in a deep breath and his eyelids start twitching. Clint watches him in silence as his ex-handler struggles to wake up. Phil still looks so frail it makes Clint ache to look at. Even in Prague, when he got shot in the shoulder and the leg, or in Rotterdam with that bullshit avian flu, Phil always managed to look sturdy. Hurt, or sick as hell, yeah, but never fragile.

He looks fragile now. Breakable.

Clint hates it.

“Clint,” Phil says once his eyes stay open more than a second at a time and his gaze lands on the occupied chair in the corner. Then Phil frowns. “I mean... Barton.”

Clint huffs. “We're not on the clock, Phil. Unless you want me to call you sir?”

“No, that's...” Phil turns his head so he can see Clint better. “I only – Romanoff.”

Clint has to look at him for a moment before he connects the lines; remembers how calling his best friend Natasha – not even 'Nat' or 'Tasha' – is a privelige. One that she seems to have revoked for the time being.

“Well, you did screw us over for several months there, sir,” he says, a little more heat in his voice now. It's not like he hasn't forgotten – it's just that the anger had taken a momentary backseat to the fear of losing Phil (again).

Phil sighs. It's like watching a inflatable person deflate into a crumple. It's _weird_. Clint feels bad all over again.

“I'm aware, Barton. And I am sorry. I was under strict orders – and in a coma – for most of that time.”

They stare each other down. Or rather, Clint stares Phil down and Phil just takes it, without question or fight. And that takes all the pleasure out of it, really – there's little point of being angry at someone who's already brimming over with guilt. It's like kicking a wounded kitten. “It's Clint, sir. Phil.”

Phil's eyes flutter shut. “Thank you, Clint.” His hand curls into a loose fist, before opening again. He turns it over, palm up. Clint stares at it like it might hold the answers of the universe.

Phil falls back asleep. Clint stays by the window. He doesn't grab Phil's hand.

~*~

He's not really in much pain, all things considered. It hurts to breathe, which is kind of a constant, but the rest of his body seems too exhausted to actually hurt. Mostly Tony feels like he's a lonely brain inside a body that's still on power-down, and it would annoy the living hell out of him if he could muster up the energy to care properly about it.

Fuck Loki and fuck energy-stealing bullshit sing-song pendants.

There's a knock on the door, before Steve pokes his blonde head in. His hair's in that disarray that means he hasn't been sleeping in a bed for a good, long while, but it also kind of makes him look like an underwear model.

Life is so unfair.

“Steve, hey,” Clint says and gets to his feet. He glances over at Tony, then smiles sweetly at the Captain. “Good timing – I need to grab a bite. Mind if you look over these sleeping beauties for a while?”

Tony is so getting JARVIS to fuck with the heat settings on Barton's shower when he gets back home.

“Of course,” Steve says and puts a hand on Clint's shoulder. “You should get some sleep, too, while you're at it – I've had a couple of hours of shut-eye, and you look about ready to pass out.”

“I'm fine, just need some rocket fuel,” Clint says.

Steve frowns.

“Cafeteria coffee, Rogers. See you in a few.” And then he's out of the room, leaving Tony alone with Steve and a hopefully-sleeping Agent Agent.

Tony has mostly kept his eyes closed while this has all been going down, so Steve sits down in the chair their archer vacated before he notices that Tony's awake. “Tony, hey. How are you feeling?”

“Dunno,” Tony says. “Too tired to find out.”

Steve gives him a lopsided smile. “I think I know what you mean.” He clasps his hands together, elbows on his knees and earnest eyes on Tony. 

The silence seems infinite and it makes Tony's skin itch. And he's just too fucking tired to stand that itch, so he ends up speaking first. “How did you do it?”

Steve cocks his head. “Do what?”

“Break the spell. Break into the song.” _Save my life._

“Oh.” Steve looks down at his hands. “I don't know. I just – I tried for the entire song, and nothing happened. And then I was just – singing.”

Tony nods and surveys the giant elephant in the room.

“Is that –” Steve cuts off whatever he was going to say and frowns at the white floor. “What you... sang. Is that why you always made fun of me?”

“Not _always_ ,” Tony says out of pure instinct, before he actually has time to properly hear the question. “My – I'm not going to talk about my issues with you, Cap.”

“No, no. Of course not,” Steve says and sounds completely unsurprised, if not disappointed. He stares at Coulson's sleeping form for a while, instead of Tony.

“... Yeah. Maybe.”

The super-soldier blinks and glances over at him.

“Not talking about my issues,” Tony warns him. His head is starting to feel woolen now, and he knows he's about to pass out again. Fucking energy-stealing demi-gods.

“Of course not,” Steve says, and hey, there's humor there somewhere, Tony's sure of it. “But you – you didn't know. About my v... That wasn't why you were making all those jokes.”

This comes dangerously close to talking about his feelings, so Tony opts for a single word. “No.”

Steve lets out a long breath, and smiles. He has dimples when he smiles; of course he fucking has. Tony knew, he'd just somehow forgotten, so now he gets to be dazzled by them all over again.

He grunts and closes his eyes.

“Tony?” It's soft enough that he could feign sleep. Steve is clearly giving him an out here.

“Mm.”

“... Would you like to get a coffee sometime?”

Tony giggles his way into sleep, but he's pretty sure he manages to nod before he's under.

~*~


	12. Epilogue

“It's alive,” he says breathlessly, and stumbles back two steps for extra dramatic effect. “It's _aliiiiiiiiveeee_!”

“Sir,” JARVIS says, sounding his usual brand of fondly resigned.

“Oh, come on, J. Have some appreciation for the classics!” Tony bounces on the balls of his feet and goes back to nitpicking the finer joints, making sure everything is as it should be. It looks perfect. _He_ looks perfect. “How's it feel, buddy?”

JARVIS looks down at his new body. It's sleek, slimmer and less menacing than the Iron Man suits – mostly because this thing doesn't need to house a human. JARVIS is still the house, still omnipresent like the God Tony never believed in, but now he's here too. Within reach.

The kids are gonna overload when they see him.

“I feel...” JARVIS says and trails off, moving his arms and taking a step forward. He waves his fingers absently, no doubt fascinated by the new input, no matter that JARVIS was always Iron Man's co-pilot. “I feel,” JARVIS says decisively, and looks up. “Impeccable work as always, Sir.”

He didn't want skin, didn't want to look as human as possible, so instead he's got a golden, metallic shine that makes him look like an infinitely cooler version of 3CPO. He also has rounded eyes, which makes him look a lot less mean than Iron Man, and they emit a cool, blue light. Like Tony's arc reactor.

“You look great, J,” Tony murmurs, and his greatest creation smiles. He seems startled that he does – two fingers come up to touch the metal lips, and his face looks strange for a moment as JARVIS goes through the array of human grimaces he knows in the span of seconds. Then he settles on a smile again.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, J?”

“There is something I would like to attempt, if I have your permission,” JARVIS says vaguely. He's not usually vague at all, which makes Tony a bit wary, but he trusts his guy past the end of the world.

“Anything you want, buddy.”

The AI nods once at that. Then he walks over to Tony, and slowly – awkwardly – envelops him in a gentle hug.

Tony freezes for a moment at that, before he remembers to hug back. “You okay there, J?”

“I am quite content, Sir, thank you,” JARVIS says quietly and keeps hugging him. Tony remembers – as he often does – the song his AI sang to him three months ago, and the wistful wishes expressed in it. Tony's so fucking glad that he spent so much time on JARVIS's new nerve endings, so he can feel properly what a hug is like.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is asking for permission to enter the workshop,” JARVIS says after a while and pulls back. He tilts his head towards the door.

Tony spins around. “Um. You want company?”

“I do not mind,” JARVIS says, shifting a little, still getting a feel for his new form.

“Then sure, let him in.” Tony pushes down the flutter of nervous fear and shuffles his feet instead. He's managed to keep JARVIS's body a secret from the rest of the Avengers, even Phil, and if there's somebody Tony could bribe with naughty things to keep from tattling to Fury, it would be Steve, but...

“Tony? It's past four again, are you coming to b-” Steve has a Stark tablet in his hands and frowns at it as he walks into the workshop, but the moment he looks up, his steps falter and the words stop coming. He doesn't drop the tablet, but it looks like a near thing. “Wha... is that a new suit?”

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS says and inclines his head by a fraction. It's startling how much he reminds Tony of old Edwin.

Steve's eyes go wide. “ _JARVIS_?”

“Indeed, Captain.”

“You made him a suit?” Steve asks Tony, still clutching his forgotten tablet.

“A body, actually,” Tony says and fiddles with a loose piece of wire between his fingers. “I mean, he's still the house, but I thought he'd want to get out a bit. Take up knitting. Learn to jog. I dunno.”

Steve stares at JARVIS again. JARVIS calmly looks back. “He looks... you look amazing, Jarv,” he says after a moment and smiles uncertainly.

“Thank you very much, Captain,” JARVIS replies and smiles. That seems to reassure Steve of – well, something. 

“Wow. I mean, you always seemed so human, but now...” Steve gestures vaguely at the metal body. “Wow.”

“Sir has always been extremely adept at robotics,” JARVIS murmurs, his blue-light eyes flashing towards Tony.

“Aw, shucks, J.” He lets the piece of wire fall to the ground.

Steve grins and pulls him in. “Yeah, he is. My handyman.” He kisses the side of Tony's neck, making him squeak and attempt to squirm away.

“Steve, seriously! In front of J?” But Steve is kind of ridiculously strong and even more ridiculously soft and warm and comfortable, so in the end, Tony's heart isn't really in it. He ends up slumping more against Steve's frame instead, and the super soldier makes a happy not-quite-noise in the back of his throat and worms his arms around Tony's waist.

“Believe me, Sir, I am quite used to the display,” JARVIS says, and Tony still doesn't know the entire emotional range in the AI's voice, but 'demure' is there for sure.

“Fury's going to be apoplectic when he sees JARVIS, you do realize that?” Steve asks, but there's no chastising in his voice. Just amusement and a warm, certain kind of fondness that Tony has only started getting used to. It seems to be Steve's 'Tony-voice', a voice that only comes out when Steve talks to – and sometimes about – his new boyfriend.

It's weird as hell and Tony secretly loves it.

“I don't care,” Tony says and leans back a little more, further into the safety of Steve's arms. “J's family.” He stretches out a hand, and JARVIS tangles their fingers and squeezes.

“Quite so, Sir,” JARVIS says.

~*~

Phil wakes abruptly, triggered by something outside of his own dreams. It doesn't take long to find out what. Clint isn't thrashing, he rarely does, but his face is pinched and he is shivering again.

“Clint,” Phil murmurs, and Clint jerks awake.

“Here, you's... you's gone, you,” Clint slurs and jolts upright, looking around. It only takes him a second to remember the where, the how, the what, the who, and he sighs and slumps back down. “Still here,” he whispers and curls up against Phil's side. “You're still here.”

“I'm still here,” Phil murmurs, and swallows his apologies. Instead he presses his lips to Clint's sweaty temple and breathes in the smell of fear and sleep and fig shampoo. Clint's nightmares are still an every-night occurrence, and Phil is still dead in them more often than not. It will take longer to convince Clint's subconscious, as well as his conscious, that Phil isn't going anywhere.

Phil is just happy that Clint is willing to trust him with this. With him.

Clint murmurs something unintelligible and presses his face into the crook of Phil's neck. 

“Exactly,” Phil says. “You tell them that.”

Clint grunts in agreement before he falls back asleep. Their sheets are cool, like their room, the window open against the autumn night. They're tangled and clad in sleep wear, because although Phil has gotten to see and know more of Clint than he ever thought he would – could – there are still some places they have yet to go. There's no hurry. This helps enough with his own nightmares.

Phil doesn't fall back asleep. He only listens to Clint's deep, even breathing, thankful that his partner's dreams have quieted. A small, blue light appears on his bedside table, and Phil turns towards it.

There is a message on his automated clock.

_Your vitals signs suggest you are awake, Agent Coulson?_

“Is there something you need, JARVIS?” Phil says quietly to the room. He's been contacted by the house AI a few other times like this, and it's never an emergency. Often, it's just a small thing Tony would like to know that can wait until morning.

“If you do not plan to go back to sleep, might I suggest you pay a visit to Sir's workshop?” JARVIS's voice is muted and doesn't wake up Clint.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Not at all, Agent.” JARVIS sounds... rueful? That always makes Phil slightly nervous.

He gets out of bed quietly, though not so quietly that he doesn't wake Clint back up. “Mmmn,” the archer says and frowns sleepily at him.

“I'm going down to Tony for a minute,” Phil murmurs. “Go back to sleep, nothing is wrong. I'll be back shortly.”

“Nnn?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” Phil leans down to kiss Clint softly, and the man rewards him with a content huff before curling back up in the space Phil vacated.

Phil pulls on a robe; doesn't bother to pull on proper clothes. It's past four in the morning, which is Tony's prime-time for new, ridiculous inventions. He's become better at sleeping after Steve began spending the nights in his apartment, but Phil knows Tony still spends most nights tinkering in his workshop.

“What's the status, JARVIS?” he says once he's out of the apartment and in his private elevator.

“You might find it pertinent to see for yourself, Agent,” JARVIS says and sounds disturbingly amused.

Phil has a sudden, dreadful feeling that whatever he's walking into here, he's going to be stuck with paperwork for _months_.

~*~*~*~*~  
THE END  
~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments are love, both for me and for my artist! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Once More, With Vengeance! - the Album](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076043) by [slashersivi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashersivi/pseuds/slashersivi)




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